


See You In A Minute

by Loquatorious



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Grief, Plot Twists, Steve Goes To Vormir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-01-25 16:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21359032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loquatorious/pseuds/Loquatorious
Summary: What if Scott had been delayed just five more minutes before driving to the Avengers Compound? What if Steve and Natasha had a little bit more time to talk? What if the Soldier and the Spy discovered more to their relationship, just in time to see it end?A canon-divergent what-if? story based on the events of Avengers Endgame.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 49
Kudos: 343





	1. PART I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "They're doomed."
> 
> "Yes... but a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts."

“_You gotta move on._”

The words echoed in Steve’s head as he hit lower Brooklyn, pulling up at a junction. He glanced both ways, allowing him a view of a desolate street and an open road. Empty, just as it had been for the past five years.

Five years and this was all they had to show for it. Pain and grief. A world in ruins, trying to rebuild itself. All in the unspoken truth that, no matter how hard they try, they just can’t. They had lost too much that day. Too many families; too many hands; too many voices; too many stories. All gone in an instant.

And yet Steve still had to tell them the same thing, over and over again until it was burned into his brain.

“_Gotta move on._”

Even as the words left his lips, he felt his conviction slipping. His eyes had moved away from the morose expressions on each of their faces, down towards the floorboards. He gritted his teeth behind his tight lips, ashamed, angry and tired. How could he expect them to move on if he couldn’t even manage it himself? The last thing he wanted to do was move on, to admit defeat and to let Thanos take one more thing from his life, namely his will. But he was running out of options.

Steve had spent five long years stubbornly refusing to give up, to listen to his own words, to move on. Five years of running in circles. Of driving down the same roads and looking up at the same gloomy sky. Of acting as counsellor to a revolving circle of victims, each new person being all too similar to the last. 

Maybe it was time to get out.

Maybe it was time he stopped fighting the inevitable.

It felt wrong - frightening, even. It made his hands tighten against the steering wheel, his mood souring considerably.

A sinking feeling in his heart told Steve that it was what he had to do.

The car came to a halt at a red light - an automated measure that had become almost obsolete in recent years. His head turned, distracted by the neon light of a nearby store to his left. He looked up, his eyes meeting a storefront, row after row of adverts and records stacked behind the glass. His eyes licked the selection, eventually reaching one in particular and stopping. 

He didn’t know what possessed him to park the car, walk inside and buy the CD, whether it was some buried fancy flaring to the surface or a mere twist of fate. Still, Steve knew exactly who he was buying it for. It wasn’t for himself. He knew that the moment he purchased that CD, the rest of his day was decided. He knew exactly where he was going.

He was heading north. To the one person he needed to see.

* * *

Steve had met with Natasha regularly since he moved back to Brooklyn. They made it a habit, once every week - specifically every Saturday - Steve would drive up to the Avengers Compound, to meet with Natasha for whatever the hell they felt like doing. Whether it was watching a film, having lunch, maybe even a mission if the two of them could drum up the effort. Most of the time he would spend the night, rarely sleeping well. He never felt at ease in his old room, not when the rest of the building was so empty. He felt the space, more than anything else. Any comfort he used to confide in had been replaced with a slow, corrosive feeling of alienation. He didn’t belong there, not anymore. 

And neither did Natasha. She didn’t deserve to be holed up in the middle of upstate New York, slaving away, fighting a war that they had long since lost.

That was how he found her; desperate, crying, mid-way through a sandwich, trying to hold it all together. Tired, alone and needing him.

She was surprised to see him. Evidently, if Natasha knew he was coming, she would have made efforts to hide this side of herself. She’d have greeted him with a broad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and an enthusiastic hug that hid her face from him. Her hands would’ve clasped around him just a little bit too tight as if she couldn’t bear to let him go again.

Now, here he was, looking at the woman behind the facade, the Natasha that had born her heart to him all those years ago. The woman who still believed she had something yet to prove, that she was anything other than a hero. 

“I used to have nothing,” she whispered, her eyes shining with barely withheld tears. “Then I got this. This job, this family, and I was… I was better because of it. And even though they’re gone… I’m still trying to be better.”

Still driving herself to the edge, every day. Still holding on, hoping. 

“I think we both need to get a life,” Steve replied. 

He took notice in the slight hesitation in her reply.

“You first.”

She tried her best smile and failed miserably. It was a sight that Steve always hated to see, one that he was determined to never see again, and yet he saw it all too often. Not only from Natasha, but from each of the people that had come to him, begging for help with moving on from the world that had been torn away from them. And every time he was forced to tell them the same thing.

Steve sighed, sitting up in his seat, refusing to sink any further in his stupor.

“I picked something up on the way back,” he announced, reaching into his jacket, producing a CD. 

Steve stood, walking towards the sound system nearby before Natasha could protest. He opened the tray, carefully placing the disc into the machine, and pressed play. The speakers dotted around the room came to life, the smooth melody of an evening piano filled the room, soft and lively. He smiled as Natasha rolled her eyes at him.

“Really?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he beckoned her over with an open hand. With one last indignant look, Natasha stood, making her way over to his side.

“You know how this one goes?” Steve asked.

Natasha raised an eyebrow in response, taking his hand in hers.

“I know how all of them go.”

“Good,” he grinned, “’cause I don’t.”

She titled her head.

“No?”

He shrugged.

“Never had the time.”

“Let me show you.” She cupped his other hand, guiding it to her hip. “Hand goes here, feet - one-two, one-two.”

Carefully, Steve placed his foot forward, making sure to avoid her toes, moving in time with the beat. After a few moments, the two ended up in a slow swaying embrace, with Natasha finding her place on his chest. 

“See, you’re getting it.”

“Hmm…” Steve glanced down, smiling at her, glad to see the stress leave her face. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Just a bit,” she said quietly, relaxing into the dance, entranced by the slow jazz. “Why did you come back? Why today?”

Steve took his time, still listening to the music floating past them.

“I needed to see you again,” he confessed softly. “It’s getting lonely down in Brooklyn. Everyone’s packing up, moving out. The city’s a ghost town. I was thinking of doing the same.”

“But you don’t want to,” Natasha presumed. Steve shook his head.

“I do, but… I’m just not sure if I’m moving on or if I’m running away.”

“What’s there to stay for?”

“Those who need my help.”

“And what about you?”

He leaned back, smiling down at her.

“I’m fine.”

Natasha sighed.

“I’ve used that lie plenty of times, Rogers,” she admonished, and his smile faltered. Instead, he chose to stare down at her as if reading her every thought.

“Come with me,” he eventually said. Natasha blinked.

“What?”

The sway of their dancing stopped, leaving them standing together in the middle of the living area.

“Please,” he insisted.

“Steve,” she said tiredly, “you know I can’t-“

“I can’t do this on my own, Nat. Come with me. There are plenty of people who can do this job.”

Natasha’s gaze fell from his eyes, back towards the floor.

“There used to be.”

“There still is.”

Natasha swallowed anxiously.

“I can’t just quit,” she replied, shaking her head.

“I’m not letting you stay here all by yourself,” Steve said sternly.

“There’s plenty of space,” she offered.

“Plenty of ghosts.” Steve gazed around the room. His eyes clouded over with memories of all the people that used to live there, all the evenings they spent together before it all fell apart. “I can’t move on here, neither can you.”

“Who says I need to move on?” argued weakly.

“Nat, this is the world now. We’ve spent five years already trying to get the old one back. But we can’t. I don’t wanna leave them behind either, but it’s time to face facts.”

Natasha brow furrowed, her gaze fixed on him. He could see the endless thoughts behind her eyes, every moment of regret, of longing and reluctance. She wanted to accept, to leave it all behind, to rest. But Steve knew it would never be that easy. He knew it was a hopeless venture, but he had to try.

“I can’t. I just… I can’t.” Her eyes fell closed. “If they were here, maybe, but… I owe it to them to try.”

Despite himself, Steve couldn’t help the long, weary sigh that escaped his lips. And all Natasha could do was look up at him, a heavy frown set on her lips as if she were thinking the exact same thing. As if she wanted this just as much as he did.

“Look at us…” he said quietly, his arms reaching around and pulling her closer. He felt Natasha relax into him, embracing him just as tightly. “Waited too long.”

The bright holographic display of an alert cut through the moment. Natasha reluctantly turned away from him, swiping through the air to answer it.

The alert faded away, and subsequently, a nearby monitor lit up with camera footage. 

_“Oh, hi, hi! Is anyone home? I-It’s, uh, Scott Lang.”_

The two froze, their eyes widening to the tune of rapidly quickening pulse. 

_“We met a few years ago, at the airport, in Germany. I was- I was the guy that got really big, I had a mask on, you wouldn’t recognise me. Ant-Man? I know you know- I know you know that.”_

This couldn't be real. This can’t be happening. Lang was dead, missing with the rest of the victims of the snap. What the hell was he doing here? Now? It made no sense. 

“Is this an old message?” Steve asked, his voice shaking, still in disbelief over what he was seeing. 

Natasha shook her head faintly, appearing just as confused and shocked as he was.

“It’s the front gate.”

* * *

They had the beginnings of a plan.

It turned out time travel was a thing, or at least it had the potential to _become_ a thing. Lang was proof enough. Supposedly he had been able to skip five whole years via something called the Quantum Realm. That was the key to this entire operation. Now all they needed was the brains to pull it off.

There were two candidates: Tony Stark and Bruce Banner.

After a short period of refusal, Tony was now on board with building the prototype for the Quantum Gate. Bruce was all in from the very start. Now with the two working together, they’d have a working model within the next few days.

Steve had been roped in for manual labour, all the heavy lifting that neither Tony, Lang nor Nat could assist with. Lang himself was a supervisor on the technicals, along with engineering a new suit for the journey, something to protect the user once they entered the Quantum Realm. Natasha herself was the director - in other words, the motivator, a role she had become more than used to in her years leading the team in his absence. As for the others, that was a work in progress.

Rocket and Bruce had managed to convince Thor to return to the compound - probably with the allure of beer judging by the state of him. The sight of this new Thor after so long in self-imposed isolation was a shock, even to Steve. Grief manifested in many different ways - Steve had seen plenty during his time in New York - but this was something else. He should have seen it coming. He should have at least tried to contact Thor after all this time. In the end, it just more things to add onto the pile of regrets he shouldered.

Barton was another issue entirely. The man had gone on a rampage, murdering his way across the planet, taking out anyone from small-time thugs to larger crime syndicates during the past half-decade. He’d even earned himself a new nickname, courtesy of the Yakuza: Ronin. Of course, Natasha knew all of this. It was her that charted his descent. It was she who always kept tabs on his whereabouts, trying in vain to contact him, to bring him home. Either those messages hadn’t got to him, or Barton wilfully ignored them - some part of Steve leaned to the latter. 

It didn’t matter now. They were all here. The Avengers. Assembled once again.

And depending on how this first test went, there was a real chance they were about to face yet another fight. Possibly their defining battle. 

He had a lot of feelings about that prospect, but none more prominent than his need to speak to a certain someone. Someone who was standing right in front of him, checking components off of her checklist, scanning the room as Bruce and Tony coordinated the final details.

“Hey,” Steve called. Natasha looked up, about to speak when Steve held up his hand, ushering her over to the corner.

“I thought Tony needed help with the gate?” she asked, her brow creasing in her typically suspicious fashion.

“He can wait five minutes,” Steve dismissed carefully, glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you. There’s a chance - a small one, but a chance - that this might work. We can get everyone back. And I thought about what you said. Nat, this could be it.”

A dawning realisation slow crept up Natasha’s face as she fumbled with her pen, tapping the clipboard erratically. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Rogers.”

“No, but if it works, if we bring everyone back-“

“Steve,” Natasha sighed, almost begging.

“Natasha,” Steve challenged. 

She gave him a once-over, her frown deepening as she realised what she was up against.

“You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”

Steve shook his head.

“Not until you agree to come with me.”

Natasha patiently disregarded her clipboard, taking a few paces towards him until she was right up against him.

“When this all over, only when we bring everyone back… I’ll think about it.”

And that was all he needed. Steve couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on his face, much to Natasha’s annoyance. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Steve teased.

Natasha scoffed, swivelling on the spot.

“That wasn’t a yes.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

“You got a maybe at best.”

“Good enough for me.”

Natasha’s eyes squinting, her gaze sharp like a scalpel.

“You think you can change my mind.”

“I don’t think I’ll need to,” Steve shrugged. It was only as she turned to pick up her clipboard that Steve caught the edge of Natasha’s lips curling upwards ever-so-slightly. “I know you’re trying not to smile.”

“I’m not,” she waved him off.

“You are,” Steve laughed. 

“Steve,” Natasha growled, fixing him with her infamous Black Widow stare. Steve was barely fazed.

“You know, that only works on people that don’t know you.”

“And you do?”

“Better than most.” Steve grinned, crossing his arms. “Enough to know that you’re almost at a yes.”

Natasha could barely keep her composure, instead opting to change the subject.

“You got somewhere in mind?”

“Ohio.”

Natasha tilted her head in an impressed gesture.

“That’s pretty far away.”

“I wanted a clean break,” Steve explained. “Besides, it’s only a couple of hours drive away. I was tempted to move into the compound with you.”

Natasha raised a single eyebrow.

“You think you could’ve lived with all those ghosts?”

“I would’ve tried,” he said, more to himself, as she strode away to continue helping with the gate. “For you.”

Judging by the way her gait faltered ever so slightly, Steve could have sworn she almost heard him.

* * *

“Thanos found the soul stone on Vormir,” Nebula explained gravely, pointing to the image by her side. 

“What is Vormir?” Natasha asked as she jotted down notes.

“A dominion of death,” Nebula replied, a phrase which pulled everyone’s attention to her, including Steve’s, who was standing just to the side, “at the very centre of celestial existence.”

Nebula’s face twitched minutely, and Steve could tell she was trying to compose herself. He had seen the same look many times in his group sessions when people describe the day the Snap took their loved ones. The shame, the grief, the fear, the desperation, barely hidden beneath a blank face.

“It’s where Thanos murdered my sister.”

Silence consumed the room. Steve stared at the diagram of the amber stone in front of him, Nebula’s words run through his mind, conjuring all sorts of nightmarish images before his very eyes. And all the while the room sat in detached contemplation, each of the other probably thinking the exact same thing. Steve could see something akin to fear buried in Natasha’s posture. Her writing had ceased, but her pen was still in position, ready to write and yet unable to form words.

He could see the cogs turning in her head already. She was going to volunteer for Vormir, even if no one else was. It was a prospect that gripped his stomach in a cold squeeze, and suddenly his legs felt like jelly. Steve knew that depending on how the Infinity Stones were spread out, he was likely to be assigned to a different mission, unable to assist her if all went South. A concept he dreaded to imagine.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust Natasha to get the job done - she was a skilled, intelligent and downright ruthless agent, more than used to the fight. Then again, according to what Nebula had told him in her spare time, so was Gamora.

It was Lang that summed up the mood most eloquently.

“Not it.”

* * *

The stones were in their sights. Finally, after days of careful, intensive planning, they had an idea of what they were going to do. Namely, they were going to steal the stones, and use them to revive everyone that Thanos had killed. They had the machine up and running, ready to go at a moment’s notice. They had their suits for the job - a redesigned Ant-Man suit, adapted for Quantum travel, enhanced with nanotech so that they fit like a second skin over their gear. 

The others had all acquired their uniforms, with Tony and Bruce dressing up in their disguises. If they were heading back in time, they were going to need to dress up in the appropriate attire. That only left Steve, already wearing his Quantum suit over his costume. This was something that the rest of the Avengers didn’t need to see.

The temporal G.P.S. bands were sitting adjacent to him, all lined up on a desk, each one programmed with specific space-time coordinates, segregated by missions. Four for the 2014 group, four for the 2012 group and two for the 2013 pair. One of them was his, bound for New York; another was Natasha’s, configured to take her all the way to Morag. So far away from each other, in so many ways. 

The scenario that Steve had dreaded ever since he had initially heard the name Vormir was finally coming to pass. Natasha was going to retrieve the soul stone. She had been the first to volunteer for the mission, just as he predicted, with Barton stepping up right behind her. At least she wasn’t alone, Steve could take some solace in that fact. But still, something nagged at him in the back of his head. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know why, but every instinct in his body was flaring. 

Thanos apparently loved his daughter, cherished her above anything else in his possession, obsessed over her well-being. Why would he choose to murder her? It couldn’t have been a spontaneous gesture of madness. Thanos was deranged, but he was hardly one to act on a whim. Even when he had the chance on Wakanda, even with five of the stones attached to his gauntlet, the only person he murdered was Vision, his aim squarely on the Infinity Stone in the android’s head. And according to what Tony had told him, Thanos had been equally merciful during their fight on Titan. 

No, he wouldn’t have murdered Gamora unless he had to - unless there was something on Vormir that demanded it of him. Something far more powerful than even the mad titan. Gamora had to die for Thanos to get the soul stone.

That same sadistic test was awaiting Natasha and Clint on Vormir. Steve knew, if it were down to her or Barton, Natasha would make all but sure it was her who laid down her life so that Clint wouldn’t have to. Barton would argue, maybe fight her for it, perhaps even get the upper hand. But Natasha would win. How could she not? 

Steve remembered vividly the moment he realised exactly what was going to happen. When the penny dropped with a horrible clang. When he realised that they were sending Natasha to her death. It happened the previous evening, as he was looking over the plan for each of the teams for flaws they might have missed. He was glad he was alone, or he might have seemed crazy, suddenly freezing in place like a statue. Every muscle in his body clenched as a cold sweat danced over this skin. His breathing halted entirely. His face drained of colour. 

  
And now here he was, the morning after, all geared up, staring at the individual devices in front of him, wondering whether all of them would make it back with their user. Even now, his hands felt clammy, his stomach and chest uneasy. The horror had remained and now clung to his every waking moment.

Steve carefully picked up one programmed for New York, examining the intricate wiring beneath the face of the band. He did the same for one drafted for Morag. In his hands was the key to time travel, a notion that used to live exclusive inside the pages of pulp science-fiction novels and the imaginations of children. Now it was real. All too real.

“How’re the old tights feeling?”

It took all the mental discipline Steve possessed to refrain from jumping. He swivelled, tucking the wrist-bands behind his back, shielding them from her view. His gaze met her smirking face of Natasha, dressed in her grey uniform, her hair tied up in an intricate ponytail trailing onto her shoulder. She looked beautiful, as she always did. Beautiful, captivating yet deadly. 

“Spangly,” he quickly scoffed, remembering the monstrosity of a suit he was supposed to be wearing. The same one that had been given to him in 2012. “Embarrassing.”

“I’ve no idea what Coulson was thinking when he had you wear it,” Natasha laughed, striding up to him to examine him closer.

“Well, he mentioned how people needed something a bit old-fashioned.”

Natasha scoffed.

“You’re old fashioned enough. You’re practically a dinosaur.”

It was as she reached behind him for one of the bands that he grabbed her arm.

“Careful,” he urged, placing a wrist band on her hand and fastening it, “don’t wanna mess up the coordinates.”

“I won’t,” Natasha insisted.

“Just making sure,” Steve smiled, fastening his own as she stared at the device resting on the back of her hand.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” she whispered, glancing at him with barely-concealed glee. Her joy was infectious, he found, as his worries began to melt away, and he relaxed, just enough to smile.

“Me neither,” he grinned back. The two locked eyes; stuck as several beats passed in silence. Neither spoke, but enough was said in but a glance, in the way her eyes were sparkling for the first time in five long years.

“Steve?” she spoke, breaking the expel for only a moment. She took a moment, inhaling, reading herself. “You’re very close to getting a yes.”

Steve could only stare at her, his brow furrowed, his lips parted as words refused to come out.

“I thought-“

“That was back when I didn’t think this would work,” she clarified. “Now…”

Now there was hope. That was what she had been missing for so long, what had kept her back. Now she saw the light at the end of the tunnel, as did he, and it was warm and bright and glorious.

“Just be careful,” Steve said pointedly, gripping her arm tightly.

“I will,” she promised. “Barton’s got my back.”

“I know, but still-“

“Steve,” Nat insisted, gazing up at him in a way that made his heart swell, “I’m gonna be fine.”

He believed her. He knew she was going to be okay. He had no doubts. 

Because, unbeknownst to her, he had just made sure of it. 

* * *

“Alright, we have a plan,” Steve announced to a gathered team, assembled on the central platform in the hangar. He scanned the room, his eyes resting on each of their determined faces. “Six stones, three teams, one shot. Five years ago, we lost. We lost friends, we lost family, we lost a part of ourselves. Today we have a chance to take it all back.

"You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know, but that doesn’t mean you should know what to expect. Be careful, look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives, and we’re gonna win. Whatever it takes. Good luck.”

They were ready - more than ready, even. They were going to do this. They were coming back with the stones, no matter what. It took a long time to get here, but it was finally time to avenge the people they love. 

“He’s pretty good at that,” he heard Rocket remark.

“Right?” was Scott’s response. 

“Alright, you heard the man,” Tony called by his side. “Stroke those keys, Jolly Green.”

Bruce nodded, punching in commands on a nearby keyboard. The machine whirred as it came to life.

“Traction’s engaged,” Bruce announced, quickly rejoining them on the platform.

He saw Clint glancing down at a miniature ship in the palm of his hand, barely the size of a toy.

“You promise to bring that back in one piece, right?” Rocket asked from the other side of the platform.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Clint nodded absently. He gave the raccoon his best smile. “I’ll do my best.”

Rocket seemed entirely unmoved.

“As promises go, that was pretty lame.”

The gears underneath the glass began to spin, the circuits flared with energy. This was it. Steve heard Natasha to his left, swinging the balls of her feet.

“See you in a minute,” she said cheekily, her voice filled with optimism, flashing him a smile made his heart skip a beat, and force his lips into a warm, genuine smile of his own.

“I know,” he nodded, savouring the moment, before his nanotech helmet folded around his head, encasing him behind a blue visor.

A chandelier of glass refractors spun above the platform as the generators geared up into full power. 

A second later the platform was empty. 

  
  


* * *

The 2012 team landed in the middle of an abandoned alleyway, dipping out of view as a Chitauri craft came hurtling past them, thankfully not noticing their arrival. The four stood, taking in their surroundings. They had made it.

“Okay, Stark tower is due north,” Tony announced, his suit melting away to reveal his S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform underneath. He turned to face the group. “Let’s head up the-”

He paused. He quickly performed a headcount. Four people. Him, Lang, Bruce, and one more. Someone who should have been Steve. Except they were at least half a foot too short. His suspicions were confirmed when their suit disappeared, revealing that they were, in fact, not the person they were supposed to be. 

His hesitation made the others turned in the direction he was staring at. They too faltered, spotting the exact same thing as Tony did. The fourth person in their team who wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near here.

Bruce was the first to break the confused silence.

“Natasha?”

She glanced up at him, then around at the buildings dwarfing the alley, looking just as confused as they were. Then her eyes fell to the device sitting on the back of her hand, running back through her memory to see what could have gone wrong.

“What happened? What’re you doing here? Where’s…”

Her eyes widened as she put the pieces together, finally remembering what she had missed the first time. 

“Steve…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was going to be a one-shot, then I realised it was getting very, very long. So, I decided to split it into separate parts, and I thought this was a good cliffhanger to end it on. What am I like?
> 
> Until next time, true believers.


	2. PART II

The team of four were hardly noticeable amidst the violent landscape of Morag as they touched down. Even if there had been an onlooker, they probably would never have been seen. Especially not in the chaos around them, against the cataclysmic waves crashing against the jagged rocks, set under an oppressive, grey sky.

The quartet adjusted themselves, gaping around at the alien landscape. They turned back to each other, noticing for the first time the rogue member of their group.

Someone who definitely wasn’t Natasha Romanoff.

“What the hell?” Clint sputtered as he saw Steve Rogers standing in what should have been Natasha’s space by his side. The man himself remained stoic, deactivated his Quantum suit, allowing it to peel back and reveal what he had been hiding underneath. A new and improved variation of his Captain America uniform adorned with scales running along the broad side of his torso and shoulders - a far cry from the tight, garish outfit he was supposed to be wearing for his trip to New York, 2012.

“Let’s get going,” he announced. He turned to walk away, only to be blocked by Clint pushing back at him, a hand shoving against his chest.

“Cap, this wasn’t the plan,” Clint growled.

“I changed the plan.”

“What about Nat? Where’d she go?”

“She’s with the New York team.”

Clint’s eyes widened, his frown deepening.

“She’s not briefed for New York,” he exclaimed, “you jeopardised the whole mission!”

“She _planned_ New York,” Steve admonished. “She more than knows what she’s doing.”

“And you?” Clint retorted.

“I know as much about Vormir as you do,” Steve replied tersely. “As much as she did.”

Clint scowled at him, nowhere near satisfied with his answer.

Steve swivelled on his foot, glancing back at the others in the group, who had been silent up until now.

“And what about you two?”

Rhodey looked extremely uncomfortable, his face contorted into a worried expression.

“I don’t know, Steve,” he responded, “this doesn’t feel right.”

Steve’s gaze then moved to Nebula, who had suddenly become rather withdrawn and, judging by her body language, extremely nervous. She was hiding something, he could tell. Something big.

“What are you not telling us?” he asked her firmly. She glanced at him, meeting his stare for only a second, then hastily looked away. Steve sighed. “Fine. Let’s go before we’re seen. We’ll meet you back at the compound… right?”

He aimed that last word pointedly at Nebula, who merely nodded distractedly.

“Right,” she agreed carefully.

“Take care,” Steve ordered, clapping them both on the shoulder, “both of you.”

His calm confidence managed to at least bestow some comfort to the two of them, as he saw their mood lighten just a little. Even Nebula made an effort to look him in the eye once again.

“You too,” Rhodey answered for the both of them, patting Steve’s outstretched arm jovially. Or at least, as jovially as he could manage, given the circumstances.

The Captain gave his two teammates his best smile and sent them on their way.

“This isn’t like you,” Clint stated as Rhodey and Nebula departed, waiting until the two of them were far enough away to be out of earshot. “You never go back on a plan.”

Steve fixed him with a weary look.

“I’ve done it plenty of times unless you’ve forgotten.”

“Not like this,” Clint protested, before suddenly pausing. A light switched on behind his eyes. “You didn’t want Nat to go to Vormir.”

Steve’s face remained blank.

“No,” he eventually replied. “Come on, we’re wasting time.”

“This wasn’t smart,” Clint sighed as he began to follow him, pulling out the miniature Benatar out of his pouch, ready to transport them to the other side of the galaxy.

“Probably not,” Steve agreed, “but don’t tell me you’d rather Natasha were here.”

“No,” Clint replied. “Of course not.”

“Then we’re agreed,” Steve said conclusively.

“I wouldn’t call it that exactly,” Clint remarked under his breath, knowing that Steve would hear it. Not that Steve cared. All that mattered to him was that Natasha wasn’t here in his place. She was in someplace far more familiar, somewhere hopefully safer than whatever they were about to face on Vormir. 

He could only hope that Natasha’s improvisational skills were a good as she claimed.

* * *

Meanwhile, on a planet far away, two years before any of this happened, yet occurring in tandem, Natasha Romanoff was fuming. 

That blonde-haired, blue-eyed, perfect jawline, 100-year-old son of a bitch had switched their wrist bands, right under her nose. And worse, she hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. Now, Steve had undoubtedly taken her place on the mission to Vormir while she was stuck trying to pick up the pieces of the New York operation. 

All because he thought it was up to him to decide what dangers she faced as if she were a little girl that couldn’t handle the big wide world on her own. When they got back to the compound, she was going to show Steve Rogers _exactly_ what she thought of that idea.

But right now, they had more pressing matters to attend to, mainly how the hell they were going to pull off this heist. With Rogers gone, the part of the plan pertaining to the sceptre had been thrown into flux. Initially, it was the Captain’s job to secure the mind stone, wearing his own disguise to blend in and steal the object right back from the S.T.R.I.K.E. team that had been sent to secure it. Rogers had the advantage of his pristine reputation, his penchant for truth and honesty. That was something Natasha definitely did not have - she had a completely different kind of reputation.

The kind that might just work as well, if she played her cards right. 

Natasha scanned the street in front of her, paining up to Stark Tower, looming over them, taunting them. Inside that building lay two infinity stone, the two items they needed to save the world. All they had to do was take them, hopefully without being seen.

Natasha could do this in her sleep.

“So what the hell do we do now?” Natasha heard Lang asked from behind her.

“We’re the Avengers,” she replied as if the answer was obvious. “We adapt.”

* * *

A kaleidoscope of unearthly light flashed past the windscreen, glowing with an intensity that set Steve’s eyes alight with wonder. From his place on the front seat, he looked past the vortex of subspace, out into the open expanse beyond, watching as the stars flew past him at dazzling speed. 

It was beautiful - a sight he never thought he’d see once in his lifetime, let alone twice. It was all enough to make him feel like a child again, staring out into the night sky, wondering what was beyond the endless black and twinkling lights. 

Steve glanced to his side, smiling when he saw Clint similarly transfixed.

“You okay?” he asked, breaking the other man out of his trance.

“This is my first time in space,” he noted with a hint of awe.

“This is my second,” Steve confessed with a grin, laughing softly to himself.

“Does it get old?” Clint asked, failing to keep a similarly broad smile off of his face.

Steve looked out to the world around him, watching at the ship pushed its way past endless miles of stars and planets and suns, all flashing by faster than he can adequately process. It looked like something out of a dream; colour and beauty and majesty in its purest form.

“Not yet.”

* * *

Getting into Stark Tower was a breeze. Natasha had broken into many facilities in her time. There were only so many ways one could make a lock, and a dozen more ways that lock could be broken. Natasha had tried most them during her career as a super-spy, and she wasn’t going to be beaten by whatever Tony Stark could conjure. 

Actually procuring the sceptre was the going to be the main challenge. Natasha knew that she couldn’t just steal it, not in the way she was used to. It would raise too many questions, and for someone like her, who saw and heard pretty much everything, the theft of the sceptre was something she knew her younger self would be onto in a jiffy. The last thing she needed was to contend with herself, especially since that was something that never occurred in the first place - or at least, Natasha certainly didn’t remember it happening. A change to the timeline on that scale could have catastrophic events.

It was lucky, then, that her past self was on the opposite side of the building, out of the way for now. Natasha estimated that she had an approximately five-minute gap to steal the sceptre before her past self figured out that something was wrong, along with everyone else. Best not to waste time, then.

The doors of the elevator opened, and Natasha Romanoff was standing just in front of them, putting on her best smile. 

“Hello, boys,” she greeted merrily.

There was a moment where the group of men, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the elevator, didn’t seem to recognise her. Natasha forced herself to remain calm, so as not to give anything away. She had to look normal - or as normal as was possible. If the new outfit wasn't enough, her new ponytail tipped with blonde was sure to raise suspicion. Then again, she wasn’t here to make them feel comfortable. She was here to make them sweat.

“Romanoff,” Rumlow nodded after a short pause, his gaze licking her body, taking her in.

The super spy gestured to the case in his hands, unfazed.

“I’m gonna need that sceptre for a minute.”

Rumlow scoffed, gripping the case tighter, swinging it behind his leg.

“I’m afraid that can’t happen.”

Natasha’s smiled turned predatory.

“I wasn’t asking.”

Natasha noticed nervous fidgeting in the edges of her vision. The S.T.R.I.K.E. operatives glanced at each other out of the side of their eye. She could feel their hands inching towards their firearms, a few grasping their batons in what they thought was a menacing fashion. 

And all while Natasha merely stood there, her arms crossed, daring any of them to try it. 

“Anyone wanna get out?” she asked, flashing another pretty grin, her eyebrows raised casually. Not one of them moved. “Good.”

Her stare fell to Rumlow who, realising he was outclassed, reluctantly reached forward, handing her the case containing the sceptre. Natasha took it, clutching it tightly, her insides jumping victoriously. She had done it. 

“Thanks, boys. Have fun.”

Then she stepped back, allowing the elevator to shut completely. 

Natasha breathed a sigh of relief, allowing herself a sincere, satisfied grin. Morons. She turned, pacing down the hallway with her new bounty, a new-found bounce to her step.

“Sceptre secure,” she announced softly into her comm. “How’s the cube coming?”

“Working on it,” came Tony’s hushed reply. 

It was a few moments later before she heard him again. This time it was good news. 

“Good job,” Tony relayed. If that meant what she thought it meant, then he had the cube. Their mission was nearly over. Natasha rolled her eyes affectionately. “Meet me in the alley, I’m gonna grab a quick slice-” 

A loud crash came from the other side of the comms. A few scuffles. She could hear a commotion coming from downstairs. 

“Tony?” Natasha called. “Tony, respond!”

There was a pregnant lull in the radio before someone responded. 

“That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?” The uncertainty in Lang’s voice did nothing for her nerves.

“What? What wasn’t supposed to happen?” she called urgently.

“No,” Tony groaned in reply, “No, we blew it.”

Natasha’s stomach flipped.

“Tony, what’s going on?” she urged as she rounded the corner onto the walkway. “Have you secured the Tesseract? When should we-”

Natasha’s eyes flitted upwards for barely a moment and met bright blue. Her stride came to an abrupt halt, her eyes widening as she came face to face with the one person she didn’t want to see. The man narrowed his eyes, gripping his red, white and blue vibranium shield, squaring up to her as he blocked her path.

Natasha could only sigh wearily.

“Oh, shit.”

“You’re not Romanoff,” a younger Steve Rogers quickly deduced. “What are you doing with that sceptre?”

Natasha sighed, realised that it was too late to run.

“See,” she began, bending down to set the case on the glass floor at his feet, “it’s kinda hard to explain.”

Then, without warning, she swung the metal case upwards as hard as she could. It bludgeoned the younger Steve's chin with a loud clang. He staggering, only for a moment, but long enough to allow Natasha a swift kick to his stomach. As Steve doubled over, she leapt, mounting his head, wrapping her legs around it and twisting her body. The resulting action sent them toppling to the floor.

He struggled, his mask tore away, allowing her a full view of his face. He looked so young, even now. So inexperienced, Natasha noted thankfully. She doubted she would have stood a chance against _her_ Steve, not with everything she had taught him over the years.

Natasha stood over him, quickly preparing her widows bites for a knockout shock when she felt a foot collide with her leg, sweeping them out from under her. Just as suddenly, he was on top of her, holding her arms behind her back, pinning her legs beneath his knee.

“Come on, Rogers, at least _try_ to hurt me,” she groaned.

“What?”

Natasha covertly pressed the finger of her bent arm again the side of her bracer, sending a taser shot straight into the younger Steve’s looming body. He folded over, grimacing as his muscles constricted against the shock. His hands loosened just enough for Natasha to swivel, clocking him with a sideswipe that sent him rolling. His shield was forgotten, sitting just out of reach.

Natasha hurriedly rose to her feet, mirroring the younger Steve as the two came at each other. She was just faster, landing hit after hit against him, but he was far more powerful. One hit was all it took to send her flying, followed up by a kick which barely missed her. Natasha gripped his leg, bring her elbow down onto his kneecap in what should have been a knee cap-breaking hit. Instead, Natasha brought her elbow down onto what felt like a piece of concrete. She cringed as a shot of pain rushed up through her arm. Steve meanwhile looked entirely nonplussed, his leg remaining rigid against her attack. 

He reached down and grabbed her by the collar of her jump-suit. He hauled her against the side of the balcony, the railing digging into her back, forcing her to fold over.

“I can do this all day,” he growled, his superhuman strength ensuring that she couldn't move an inch

Natasha struggled against him, trying to rip his arms away from her to no effect. Steve remained steadfast, clasping her suit and pushing her firmly against the railing.

“Now, I’m gonna ask you one more time,” he warned, “who are you? And what do you want with the sceptre?” 

“Watch the hands there, soldier,” Natasha groaned. His eyes widened a fraction, his head tilting in confusion. His attention pulled away from her hands, she plunged her batons into his abdomen. The tips jabbed right into the fresh, bloody wound he had received only an hour before.

Steve cried out in pain, his arms instinctively reaching for her batons, allowing her a clean hit to his head. He tumbled, curling inwards, retreating just enough to allow her a beeline for his abandoned shield. Just as he was about to rise to his full height again, Natasha swung the broad face on the disc straight into his face. A loud clang rang through the area, and Steve collapsed, falling to the walkway in a heap.

“Sorry,” Natasha smirked, “I meant mine.”

Before he could recover, she produced a roll of wire, quickly tying Steve’s hands behind his back and wrapping his legs together. It made an adequate restraint, but it wouldn’t last. It would take him a while before he broke out, just enough time for her to escape.

Natasha almost felt guilty, having to do this to someone she trusted, to someone who really didn’t deserve it. He was just doing what he thought was right - she’d be more disappointed if he let her go. Still, it had to be done, for the sake of half the universe.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she promised slyly, reaching down to press a soft kiss on the side of his cheek, as much for this Steve as it was for her’s. Then, without another word, Natasha picked up the case containing the sceptre and ran to the nearest elevator, leaving the younger Steve to struggle against his bindings.

“I’ve got the sceptre,” she announced into her earpiece as she exited Stark tower a few minutes later. “Tell me some good news, boys.”

“I've got the time stone. Heading back to the rendezvous point,” Bruce responded.

“Good job, Bruce,” she replied. “Be there in five minutes. Tony? Scott? Talk to me.”

It was a moment before she heard Tony’s clipped answer.

“Yeah, we have a problem on that front.”

* * *

They reached Vormir amid evening darkness. The sun had been blotted out by a layer of thick cloud, casting the planet-side in shadow, with only the towering monolith in the distance escaping into the heavens. 

Both Steve and Clint knew as soon as they saw it that it was the answer to their quest. They travelled the climb to the peak in relative silence, only speaking to reassure each other of their progress. It took them another half hour to fully scale the towering rock face. Somehow, the fact that there was a convenient set of steps carved into the rock did little to ease their anxieties. 

This was where Thanos murdered his daughter. Whatever resided here, whatever test lay in front of them, it was not to be taken lightly.

“You need a minute?” Steve asked as they reached the top of the mountain, the path leading into a darkened cave. 

“You mind?” Clint sighed. “I just climbed a mountain.”

“So did I,” Steve grinned, adjusting his helmet, to which Clint scoffed.

“Shut up,” the archer laughed.

“Welcome.”

The pair swivelled, arming themselves swiftly. They stared into the cave, in the direction of the voice, to find a floating, hooded figure waiting for the pair. 

“Who’s there?” Clint called, his sword raised and ready.

“Clinton,” the voice greeted, “son of Edith. Steven, son of Sarah.”

Steve paused, his eyes squinting. There was something all too familiar about that voice. He felt like he had heard it before, somewhere else. In another time, in another place. He could have sworn…

“Who are you?” he asked, his shield by his side.

“Someone like you,” the figure answered, as it began floating towards them. “A man out of time.”

The stranger landed softly on the rock floor in front of them, treading into the light, revealing what lay obscured by the hood of his tattered cloak. The sunlight touched his shallow, red skin, and Steve’s heart fell into his stomach.

“How far we have come,” the face of the Red Skull pondered. 

Steve was throwing his shield before he even realised it, his aim based on pure instinct. The vibranium disc hurtled through the air, its path true. It passed straight through the shade, hitting the back wall and returning to Steve’s hand. The Red Skull barely even flinched.

“There is no use in fighting, Captain.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Steve growled, refusing to back down for even a second. Clint glanced at him, utterly bewildered.

“You know this guy?”

Steve scowled.

“Johan Schmidt,” Steve announced. “The Red Skull.”

Clint baulked at him.

“_That’s_ Red Skull?” he exclaimed.

“I used to be,” the shade answered. Steve glared at it, his eyes narrowed.

“And what’re you now?” he asked.

“A voice,” the shade replied. “A guide. To all those who seek the soul stone.”

“How the hell are you still alive?” 

“In many ways, I am not.” The shade took a step back into the cave. “If you desire the stone, then follow.”

Neither moved to follow. Instead, Steve took Clint aside, turning so that his back was to the Red Skull.

“This is a trick,” Steve whispered. “We can’t trust him.”

“It’s not like we have much of a choice,” Clint replied.

Steve looked at him, silently evaluating their predicament. Clint was right, they had no alternatives. They needed the soul stone. Without it, half the universe remained lost forever - their friends and family, they all stayed dead. If it meant following the Red Skull of all people into the unknown, then so be it. It didn’t mean he had to follow willingly.

“Just tell us where it is,” Steve urged the shade, “and we’ll be on our way.”

“Oh, Captain,” the Red Skull replied solemnly, “if only it were that easy.”

The shade turned, making its way up the other side of the cave, beckoning them to follow behind. They had no choice. They had to follow. And worse, it seemed like his suspicions were about to be validated. 

Steve turned to Clint, his gaze firm, his voice low

“Keep your eyes open,” was his only warning, but it was enough. 

The shade led them up onto the summit, granting them a view of the surrounding country, and finally, a sliver of a silent, red sun, peeking out amongst the gloom. Its beams set the sky on fire, the cool violets flaming into blood reds and blinding whites. The path led them between two towering stone pillars that reached up to scrape the clouds, vigilant against the biting wind. 

“What you seek lies in front of you,” the Red Skull explained, “as does which you fear.”

At the end of the path lay a cliff, a sheer drop. Below that, nothing for thousands of feet interrupted only by a circular stone plateau at the very bottom of the mountain. A fall from this height would certainly be fatal.

“I’m assuming the stone’s at the bottom?” Steve deduced.

“For one of you,” the Red Skull replied. “For the other…”

The sentence hung over them, drawing Steve’s attention back to the endless drop below him. His stomach turned, realising just what the Red Skull’s words meant. 

“In order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul for a soul.”

And just like that, the pieces slipped into place. The answer to all of Steve's burning questions laid out in front of him.

The reason why Gamora never came back from Vormir.

Now more than ever, perhaps for the first time, Steve was glad that Natasha wasn’t by his side.

* * *

“Let’s try not to trip on our shoelaces this time,” Natasha said under her breath. She marched alongside her friend in the uncomfortably period-accurate heels she had chosen to wear, adjusting the blouse she had conveniently stolen.

“Shoelaces tied, double knots,” Tony promised, adjusting his tweed blazer, tapping the side of this nanotech glasses covertly.

“Thank god,” Natasha drawled unenthusiastically.

“Now,” Tony pondered aloud, his eyes moving across the bustle of early-seventies Camp Lehigh, “if you were S.H.I.E.L.D running a quasi-fascistic intelligence organisation, where’d you hide it?”

A good question, Natasha thought, glancing around them, her eyes caught a familiar sight. The shape of a bunker, its roof covered in grass, its entrance marked by a set of grey doors, just like the one Steve had shown her, back when they were on the run. 

“In the open,” she replied. “12 o’clock.”

Tony glanced in front of him, then back to her, then back to where she was subtly nodding to. His gaze hooked the bunker ahead of them, and he smiled. He tapped his glasses once again, his eyes leading down, underneath the concrete road they were walking past - presumably at the hidden elevator behind those doors, Natasha reasoned. 

“You been here before?” Tony asked, leading them both towards the bunker, looking both ways in case anyone spotted them.

“Once,” Natasha shrugged. 

It was simple enough getting into the elevator - the bunker surprisingly didn’t have guards, maybe as to not tip off the significance of the building. It was smart, to an extent. It helped keep the real purpose of the building under wraps. It also meant that anyone with the right skills could easily slip into the organisation and do whatever they wanted. Such as stealing a highly-coveted Tesseract, along with some spare Pym Particles, for instance.

The two Avengers made their way through the unlocked door, stepping into the open space of the elevator. They were about to discuss their next move when another lady with a substantial beehive haircut joined them, leaning against the wall beside them, reading her file. Natasha and Tony glanced at each other, deciding to simply remain quiet for the moment. 

Natasha could feel the woman’s eyes examining her every move. She chose to remain still, twirling the edge of her ponytail casually, acting the aloof secretary role that was expected of her. Tony meanwhile elected to balance on the balls of his feet, looking anywhere but at the stranger by his side. 

It was a relief when the elevator eventually came to a halt.

“Good luck on your job, miss,” Tony clumsily announced, stepping out of the elevator.

“Thank you, sir,” Natasha quickly replied in a high, gasping voice, sending Tony a pointed look as the doors shut between them. The elevator began to move again, deeper and deeper into the facility, leaving only Natasha and the woman on the opposite wall, alone.

“You new here?” the woman said pleasantly, but Natasha could detect a subtle undercurrent of suspicion in her voice.

“Just about,” she smiled, nodding. “Still getting used to the place.”

“Uh-huh.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened once again. Natasha gave the lady one last goodbye before quickly departing in the direction for Hank Pym’s lab. She strode quickly, opting not the stick around in case she started asking more questions.

* * *

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Natasha spoke casually into the receiver. “This is Dr Hank Pym, right?”

“Yes, miss, that is the number you've called.”

“This is Natalie Stevens from shipping,” she explained. “We have a package for you.”

“Ah, tell them to bring it up.”

“I’m sorry, sir. They can’t.”

There was a pause from the other side of the call.

“I’m confused, I thought that was your department’s job.”

“Well, it’s just… well, sir, the box is glowing, apparently. And some of the boys are feeling sick…”

“They didn’t open it, did they?” Hank’s voice replied, suddenly very sober, and Natasha knew she had struck gold.

“Umm, I’m afraid they did-”

The call abruptly cut off, and Natasha smiled. 

She peered out of the door, into the hallway, just in time to see Hank Pym sprinting past. She estimated a turnaround of eight minutes before he realised that he never received a package. More than enough time.

The lab itself was only a few turns away and thankfully empty. The particles Natasha needed were also easy to locate, contained in a test tube rack on a desk in the middle of the room. She grabbed a few, enough that would fit in her pocket, and left the lab before anyone could notice she was there.

She turned the last corner, back towards the elevator, when she stopped herself dead in her tracks. The lady from the elevator was speaking to a couple of what must have been security guards. From the short distance between them, Natasha could hear everything she was saying. She was describing her likeness, as well as Tony’s. 

Natasha glanced around the hallway. There had to be someplace she could hide, only until they had moved away from the elevator. After a frantic few moments of searching, Natasha spotted a darkened room nearby and slipped inside. She shut the door as quietly as she could and held her breath. She heard the sound of footsteps hurrying past, rounding the corner, and fading away.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Natasha turned, only to be met with the door on the opposite side of the small office opening just as a woman with brown hair and a firm gaze walked through it.

A woman that Natasha would recognise anywhere, even in her younger years.

Peggy Carter, future director of SHIELD, stared at her, a frown forming on her lips, her brow creasing.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked. 

Natasha quickly conjured an excuse, her mind still reeling from the shock of seeing her idol in the flesh.

“Is this not the right office?” Natasha asked, shrinking in on herself, acting the role of a flustered, young intern.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” Carter replied.

“Oh my god,” Natasha exclaimed, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell anyone, this is my first day-“

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Peggy smiled, coming to lean on the lip of her desk. “Although, if you want any tips on lying, I’m always available.”

Natasha’s face dropped. Carter shook her head, reaching into her desk drawer.

“It’s part of my job to screen any and all staff that enter this building,” she continued. She pulled her hand out of the drawer along with a loaded pistol, aiming it straight at Natasha’s chest, “and I’ve never seen your face once. So, who are you? What are you really doing here?”

Natasha held up her hands slowly, looking the woman in front of her dead in the eyes.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Carter replied in a dry tone of voice.

Natasha sighed, throwing caution to the wind. 

“I’ve been sent from the future to steal the most powerful items in the universe in order to save my friends.”

Carter blinked, but other than that did not react.

“Okay… that’s certainly a first.”

_‘Oh, you’ve heard nothing yet,’_ Natasha thought.

“And it was Steve Rogers who sent me.”

Her relaxed, aloof manner disappeared. Her confident smirk vanished, replaced with a blank expression.

“Try harder,” she replied, anger boiling beneath the surface.

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“If you think,” Carter said quietly, “making fun of me will end well for you, you haven't the first idea who you're dealing with.”

Natasha stared at her, refusing to show weakness.

“You’re really gonna make this difficult, aren’t you?”

Carter forced a teasing smile.

“Call it a habit.”

This wasn’t going to work. Natasha knew she needed to convince Carter that she was telling the truth, or she wasn’t leaving this office - at least, not as a free woman. She dug down, trying to remember every conversation she ever had about Peggy Carter, anything that only she and Steve would possibly know. And she found it.

“I didn’t wanna do this,” Natasha sighed. She knew what she was about to say was deeply personal, something Steve told her in highest confidence, but she had no other options. Whatever it takes. “When Rogers went down with the Valkyrie, in the last broadcast he sent out… he promised you a dance.”

The transformation was instantaneous. The hard glare on Peggy’s face softened, her aim faltered by a fraction of an inch as her hand began to shake. There was a long, tense pause where neither said anything.

“And did he tell you what he had been waiting for?” Peggy eventually asked, her voice still retaining its hard, authoritative edge. “After all that time?”

Natasha nodded.

“The right partner.”

Peggy gazed at her for a moment, taking her in. Seeing no hint of a lie, she placed the gun down on the desk, exhaling and staring at the floor. Natasha lowered her hands, breathing a sigh of relief as the tension in the room slowly dissipated.

“Is he alright?” Peggy eventually asked. “In the end?”

Natasha smiled.

“He’s a good man. Maybe the best I’ve ever met. I like to think he’s…” She paused, choosing her words very carefully. “He helped me become the person I wanted to be. Or at least try.”

To her surprise, Peggy responded with a melancholy smile.

“And I think he’s found the right partner,” she said softly. She stood up, putting her hands on Natasha’s shoulders. “You take care of him. Take of yourself, whoever you are.”

“Natasha,” she replied, more than slightly starstruck. “Natasha Romanoff.”

Peggy nodded.

“I’ll keep an eye out when the time comes.”

“You’ll be waiting a while.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Peggy promised. Her mood then turned sober, leaning in to whisper to her. “What do you need?”

“Time,” Natasha replied. “Just enough to get out of the bunker.”

“Consider it done. Wait here. In two minutes, you head for the lift and don’t look back.” She walked to the door and was about to open it when she turned back. “And Natasha? Send him my love.”

And with that, she left, leaving Natasha behind in her darkened office. Two minutes later, Natasha peeked her head out of the door. Sure enough, the guards were nowhere to be seen. The elevator was waiting for her, open, empty and ready to take her up to the surface. 

No wonder Steve liked her.

* * *

“He’s gone,” Clint announced. 

Steve turned to look at him, his helmet long forgotten on a nearby rock, stepping back from his place at the edge of the cliff. They had been there for a while now, trying to figure out what to do. Whether or not this was all some kind of illusion or a test with an elaborate solution. Neither of them wanted it to be as simple as it appeared, but as time ticked by, the more it seemed to be so. 

Clint noticed his concerned expression, shrugging.

“He might be making this shit up.”

“I wanna believe that,” Steve replied.

“And you don’t?” Clint scoffed. “You just said-“

“Thanos and his daughter came here together,” Steve reminded him “Only one of them came back. Call it a hunch.”

Clint turned his attention back towards the cliff, before sighing, hanging his head.

“Well, this is awkward.” He smiled. “No offence, Cap, you’re a beautiful man, but I don’t really…”

“Neither do I,” Steve shrugged back. “But I don’t think it’s quite that simple. As long as we’re giving up something we love, either of us could do it.”

“Then I think we both know who has to jump.”

Steve stopped his pacing, his eyes turning back to Clint, frowning.

“No,” Steve said bluntly, “I don’t.”

Clint merely looked at him.

“Come on, Cap.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“You know what I’ve done,” Clint argued. “All the people I’ve killed.”

“I’ve killed people, too,” Steve retorted. “I was a soldier, Clint. I’ve taken lives, some of them innocent. I’ve got blood on my hands-“

“That was war, Rogers, you can’t-“

“Half a universe of it.”

Clint paused, his expression turning into a picture of confusion. Steve sighed.

“All of this,” he shook his head, “this was _my_ fault. I tore the Avengers apart. That was _me._ I was the one that wouldn’t listen, who refused to see reason, and because of that, we lost. You think you’re the only one with regrets?”

“You’re not the one that gave up,” Clint pointed out.

“Because you lost more than I ever did. A family, friends, children…” He paused. “I can’t imagine how that feels.”

“Can’t you?” Clint challenged. “What about the others? Barnes, Sam, Wanda, Nat. The rest of the team. They need you.”

“No, they don’t,” Steve said softly. “They have each other. They would’ve _always_ had each other if it weren’t for me.”

Clint took a step back, shaking his head.

“I’m not letting you jump,” he said firmly, his voice firm.

Steve sighed.

“I never said it was up to you.”

Before Clint could react, Steve’s shield had already hit him square in the chest, bowling him over onto the ground. He got up onto his elbows just in time to see Steve dropping his shield, readying himself. Clint knew precisely what he was doing. He was winding up to leap. 

The archer pulled his bow off of his back, equipping a tow line onto the quill of his arrow, just as Steve began to sprint towards the edge. He pulled and released the arrow, watching it soar through the air. It hit Steve right in the thigh. The pointed edge dung deep, and Steve cried out, dropping to the ground as Clint pulled the cable taught.

Clint dragged the super-soldier across the rock until his back was under his boot

“Stay down,” Clint warned, pushing him into the floor.

Worryingly, the man beneath him chuckled.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Without warning, Steve rolled, grabbing the line and pulling Clint down with him. The archer stumbled, allowing Steve the time to pull the arrow out from his leg as he pinned the other man down.

“This is _my_ job,” Clint growled from beneath him.

“Like _hell_, it is,” Steve growled back.

Clint responded with a kick squarely aimed at the wound in Steve’s thigh. Pain spiked through the soldier's leg, his knee buckled, and Clint used the shift in weight to roll the two men over, swapping their positions. He followed up with a swift punch to the face, sending the back of Steve’s head into the rocky floor beneath him, stunning him for a moment. 

Clint rose, looking down at the super-soldier as he struggled to readjust.

“Sorry,” Clint simply said. His gaze turned to the cliff, and he began to sprint to the lip, leaving Steve in his dust. 

Clint closed his eyes as he reached the edge, diving over the lip. He knew this was right. This was what he needed to do. He felt the wind on his face as he fell faster and faster towards the ground. 

Suddenly, he felt something wrap around his foot, and Clint's fall came to a halt. He opened his eyes, raising his arms as he saw the cliff swing towards him. His body hit the rock wall, his hand instinctively gripping onto something clasping his own. Something firm and heavy. 

Clint looked down to see none other than Steve, holding onto his hand for dear life, dangling over the chasm below.

“Why can’t you just-“ Clint shouted, looking up to find that the cord he had used to harpoon Steve was now tied around his leg.

“_Sorry_,” Steve smirked.

“Let _me_ do this!” the archer exclaimed, trying to reach to the rope around his shin, struggling against the dead weight of Steve holding him down.

Steve shook his head, his gaze as steadfast as the mountain.

“No.”

Clint struggled, trying to finger his way up to the cord, but it was no use. No matter what he did, he couldn’t reach the rope. They were stuck, suspended over certain death.

“Don’t try,” he heard Steve say below him. “If anyone’s falling, it’s me.”

Clint looked at his friend, grimacing as his arm began to protest against the weight, but refusing to let go regardless. He reached down, grabbing onto Steve's other arm.

“What about Nat?” he argued. “I saw you two. You can’t do this to her.”

“What about your kids?” Steve argued back.

“They’ll understand,” Clint replied hesitantly. Steve stared him deep into eyes.

“And Laura?”

The face of his beautiful wife flashed before Clint’s eyes, and suddenly he realised what he almost did, what he had nearly given up. His once iron-clad determination shattered into little pieces. He glanced down to Steve, still staring at him, challenging him to say otherwise. He couldn’t.

“You son of a bitch.”

The sound of cracking stone sounded from above, and Clint felt the rope holding his leg shudder. Whatever Steve had used as leverage was coming loose, fast. They needed to make a decision. One of them needed to fall. And Steve was the only one who could.

But no matter how he wanted to Clint couldn’t let go. Steve was a good man, better than he ever was. He was a hero, the man too good to be true, the man who never gave up on anyone. And now he was asking Clint to kill him. 

“Don’t make me do this,” Clint begged, his voice trembling.

Steve looked at him, his face settled into a small, sad smile.

“I’m not asking you to do anything,” he reassured Clint. “It has to be me. Let me go, I’ll do the rest.”

“No…” Clint cried, holding on as hard as he could, even as he felt his gloved fingers begin to slip.

He wanted to protest, wanted to scream at him to stop, to leave him, but he couldn’t. He knew what was about to happen. He knew, even from the moment they arrived, who was really going over the edge. He thought of what the others would think, how they would react, knowing that their leader, their friend, traded his life for Clint’s. How disappointed they would be.

“You made mistakes,” Steve said, cutting through his thoughts, “but that’s okay. You’re a good man. Promise me you’ll look after them. Promise me.”

It was all Clint could do but to stare down at him, locking Steve’s glistening, blue eyes.

“I…”

But the man merely nodded, urging him to do what he needed to do, completely unafraid. 

“Okay,” Clint nodded. “Okay.”

With one last glance, Clint allowed his fingers to loosen. He closed his eyes and let go of Steve’s hand.

Immediately, Steve reached up, grabbing ahold of Clint’s arm, holding himself up just a second longer. Clint opened his eyes, staring down at Steve, confused, hoping, maybe, that the man had changed his mind. 

Until he remembered what Steve had said, about how it had to be _him. _His eyes widened. 

“Please,” was all Clint could manage as he looked as his brother-in-arms.

Steve gave him one last smile and let go.

Clint screamed, reaching out as he watched his friend fall. By that time, Steve was already too far away, falling too fast to stop. Clint gasped, forcing himself to watch as he fell faster and faster and faster until…

By the time Clint registered the landing, it was over. All that was left was Steve’s body, lying in a growing pool of crimson, his eyes open but unseeing. 

Clint cried, hitting his fist against the cliff in anger until he was sure his fingers were broken. By that time, the sky had opened up, and a blinding light consumed him. Then all he knew was blackness.

* * *

Clint awoke surrounded by water, floating at its surface, the sand beneath cushioning him. He sat up slowly, looking around, trying to find any trace of Steve. He was nowhere to be seen. 

He looked down, spotting something glowing between his fingers. He opened his find to find the soul stone, glowing bright amber, twinkling like a star in the night sky. It felt warm, even through the leather of his gloves. Clint stared at it despondently. Steve had given his life for this, he realised. This was all that was left of him.

Except, it wasn’t, because just a few yards away, just beneath the surface, was something else, something round. Clint waded over to it, looking down, digging it out of the sand. He recognised it immediately.

It was Steve’s shield, perfectly intact. The only piece of Steve Rogers they had left.

The mission was a success, and yet all that Clint felt was an overwhelming sense of failure. They had the soul stone. And they lost their best man.

Clint sat in the waters of an alien world and let the tears fall of their own accord.

* * *

“You got the Pym particles?” Tony asked Natasha once they met back on the surface, finding her sitting beside a jeep beside a communications hut.

“Just enough.” She gestured over to the man Tony had been talking to before he arrived. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, you know,” Tony smiled coyly, “my old man.”

Natasha stared at him incredulously, her mouth fell out as she glanced between Tony and the man who just so happened to be his father.

“I thought we were trying _not_ to screw up the timeline.”

“Yeah, well, that plan went out the window ages ago.”

“I’m assuming you have the cube,” Natasha changed the subject, nodding to the briefcase in his hands.

“All safe,” Tony replied, patting the briefcase with a satisfied grin.

“Then let’s not stick around any longer.”

“You meet anyone interesting?”

Natasha glanced at Tony, thinking back to what occurred just a few minutes before, to the amazing woman she had only just met. And she smirked. 

She couldn’t wait to tell Steve all about it.

* * *

A chandelier of glass refractors spun above the glass platform as the generators geared up into full power. 

A few seconds later, the platform was empty. 

And then it wasn’t. 

Seven people appeared, materialising on the platform. 

“Did we get ‘em all?” Bruce asked, looking around, just like the rest of them, as if to confirm that he was indeed back in the Avengers compound.

Rhodey stepped forward, holding the orb for the others to see.

“You telling me this actually worked?” he grinned.

The others smiled. They had done it. They had the stones, the time heist was a success.

“Thanks for sticking to the plan, Cap,” Tony announced. He turned to where he recalled Steve was standing when they left. “Real helpf…”

Whatever he had to say was lost. His eyes scanned the room, past Bruce, past Natasha, to the face of every other person present. He counted nine people. Steve wasn’t among them.

A heavy thud echoed throughout the hangar. The group swivelled to the source. Clint had fallen to his knees, staring at the glass platform. 

“Clint,” Rhodey called, prompting the archer to look up, his face pale and defeated. “Clint, what happened? Where’s Steve?”

He didn’t reply. 

“Clint…”

He turned his head towards Natasha’s voice, spotting her wide-eyed, nervous expression.

“I… I couldn’t…” Whatever words he wanted to say died in his throat. Natasha’s gaze fell to the object by Clint’s side - a red, white and blue shield - and her heart split in two. 

Despite herself, she desperately glanced at the space by her side, expecting Steve to arrive any second. Any moment now he would reappear, with his smug grin and brilliant, bright blue eyes and all would be right in the world. With every second that passed, the space remained empty, and her pulse thundered against her eardrums.

Natasha choked, her eyes glazing over as she realised the horrible truth.

He wasn’t coming back. She was never going to see him again.

Steve Rogers, the best man she ever knew, her best friend, her ally and so much more, was gone forever.

She never even got to say goodbye.


	3. PART III

It was only five of them now. Five people, making up what was left of the original team. Her family. Every time Natasha had to recount because she always expected one more. She'd reach the last person and realise she had added one without even noticing. Perhaps because even in her worst nightmares she couldn't imagine Steve not being there. He was like a rock, or the tide, or the sun. Something larger than life itself, never compromising, always there, no matter what. 

And now he wasn't. Natasha had to find a way to live with that fact, to cope with the hole he left behind. Worst of all, she had to do it alone.

"Why would he do that?" she heard Tony murmur from her side, which was something of a relief. This was the first he had spoken since they returned to the compound - since the news broke that Steve wasn't coming back. 

"Cause that's who he was," Natasha replied quietly. This was exactly the kind of thing he'd do. He was always the best of them. If anyone was willing to make that kind of sacrifice, it was him. Natasha had always admired that about him, as much as she also hated him for it. 

"Was?" Thor spoke from the other side of the gazebo, his voice confused and agitated. He walked right up to Tony, allowing Natasha a closer look at his shaking hands. "What are we doing? What are we…?"

"Okay, I was just asking one question," Tony quickly tried to placate him, but the Asgardian refused to listen.

"You're acting like he's dead," Thor hissed. "Why are we acting like he's dead? We have the stones, okay? As long as we have the stones we can bring him back, isn't that right? So stop this _shit_. We're the Avengers. Get it together."

"We can't get him back," Clint's voice called from somewhere in front of her. Natasha wasn't quite sure where. She was too busy staring at the floor, trying and failing to keep tears from running down her cheeks. "It can't be undone."

"I'm sorry, no- no offence," Thor replied, turning to Clint, "but you're a very Earthly being. We're talking about space magic, here, and 'can't' sounds very definitive, doesn't it?"

"Look, I _know_" Clint responded tersely, "that I'm way outside my pay-grade here, but he still isn't here, is he?"

"No," Thor stammered, "that's not my point."

"It can't be undone," Clint insisted. "Or at least that's what the Red Skull had to say. Yeah, he was there. You know anything about that? What does your space magic say about him? He was there. Told us it was an 'eternal exchange', no refunds. Unless you wanna go talk to him. How about that? Go grab your hammer, and you go find and talk to _him_!"

The moment the words left his mouth, Natasha could tell Clint regretted them. She saw out of the corner of her as both Clint and Thor shrank into themselves, Thor out of anxiety and Clint out of shame. Clint knew that Thor wasn't the one he was angry with; it wasn't him who deserved his ire. It wasn't him who let Steve Rogers die.

"It should have been me," Clint choked, his hands gripping the railing so tight that his knuckles became pallid. "It was gonna be me. And he did it anyway."

A choked cry of rage sounded from the far edge of the platform as a bench was launched across the lake. It landed in nearby woodland, and the green giant threw was none the better for it. Bruce exhaled tensely, trying to contain himself against another outburst.

"He's not coming back," he said solemnly. "We have to make it worth it."

"Nat?" 

Tony's voice drew her head up, allowing everyone a chance to stare at her ruined face. What little facade she still had amongst them was gone. 

"How long before you can get the gauntlet up and running?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the calm waters stretching to the forest. She couldn't bear to look any of them in the eye. She had to be strong.

"Twelve hours," Tony replied, "max."

Natasha nodded, rising from her seat, stealthily wiping her cheek.

"Then you know what to do."

Without another word, she turned and began marching up to the compound, leaving the rest of the team to their own devices. Only one made any attempt to follow her.

"Nat," Clint called after her, only to be stopped by Tony.

"Give her some space, man."

"Screw you," Clint spat, trying to push past him.

"Barton," Tony insisted - almost growled - holding him back. "Don't. You weren't here. They were close. She needs time."

Clint wanted to argue back, to throw him away and follow her anyway. He didn't, because he knew Tony was right. He wasn't there for her, not like Steve was. Clint wasn't the one who helped her through the past five years. He wasn't the one who there to provide the support she so desperately needed. He was the one who abandoned her, who never answered her hundreds of calls, who ignored her messages begging him to come home, who turned to murder to bury the pain of his loss. 

In hindsight, it was apparent just how close the two of them had become. Clint saw it himself, in the small moments where they thought no one was looking when their eyes would meet from across the room, and a whole conversation would occur without a single word spoken. As if they knew one another better than anyone ever could.

Natasha didn't just lose a friend. She lost so much more than that.

Because when Steve Rogers died, a part of Natasha Romanoff died with him.

* * *

Natasha didn't know where she was going, not immediately. In fact, she couldn't remember most of the walk from the gazebo to the compound, through its winding corridors. She just knew she had to get away from people, and the more she kept on walking, the more likely it would be that she would accomplish that goal. So, of course, Natasha hadn't meant to end up in the shooting gallery, all alone, loading a six-round pistol and aiming it at the target in front of her. But since she was here, she might as well make the most of it.

Natasha pulled the trigger. The sound of the blast rumbled against her ear protectors. The knockback collided firmly with her palm, and out of instinct, she pulled the trigger again. And again. And again. Barely a moment passed before another bullet was out of the chamber until the sensation became one long blast of metal and fire.

She only stopped when no more bullets would come, only then, with the speed and skill only years of experience could allow, she would remove the magazine, replacing it just as swiftly. Then the firing would continue.

Natasha only noticed the damage she had dealt on the target once she had entirely run out of ammo, forced to stare at the barrage of holes at the centre of the rings. Perfect, just as always. If it had been a person's head in her way, there would be little left but a bloody stump.

And yet, it brought her no satisfaction, no relief. A cold, sharp fist still clenched her heart and refused to let go. 

So, she moved on. She found the gym, along with a collection of reinforced punching bags - ones specially designed for... for him. 

Natasha hooked one up to a link, squaring up to it as she wrapped her knuckles. 

The first punch came like a bolt of lightning. The pain soon followed. It was like punching stone, hard enough to sting, soft enough to not break her fingers. 

Nothing. Natasha felt nothing. 

She punched again. And again. Another, harder right hook, then a left, then a right, then one straight-on, then another left. Now she was just punching, as hard as she could, for as long as she could, trying to rip the thing apart. The abuse continued, until eventually, she took to using whatever she could, her head, her knees, her feet, whatever she could use to inflict some damage. Of course, the bag never responded. It simply hung there, taking every ounce of her abuse as if it were nothing.

As if - whatever she did, no matter how hard she tried - none of it meant a damn thing.

It didn't. Natasha certainly didn't feel any better than when she started. Except now she was in pain, as well as alone. Well, more pain, because whatever was eating away at her from the inside was perhaps the most painful thing she had ever experienced. 

Movement from the far corner of the room drew her eye. Something big and green. She recognised him instantly.

"Hey."

She didn't reply. Instead, she continued to punch the bag in front of her. 

"The gauntlet's coming along nicely. Should be done by tomorrow morning," Bruce continued. "Just wanted to make sure you knew. How are you holding up?"

Natasha landed one swift punch before answering. 

"How do you think?"

Despite her tempestuous mood, she had the decency to feel a little ashamed as she watched him squirm. Not enough to stop, though. She was in no mood for apologising to anyone. All she was in the mood for was seeing how long it took for this stupid punching bag to finally give up the ghost.

Bruce rested on a nearby bench, his head hung in something close to guilt.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she shrugged, her voice flat. "He knew the risks."

She heard Bruce sigh, like the wind passing through a forest.

"It's okay to be angry, Nat," he tried to reassure her.

Natasha responded with a tight, lifeless smile.

"Says the guy who used to have breath-taking anger management issues."

Bruce continued to stare at her, rubbing his hands together, as if to quell his nervous energy.

"How can we help?"

"Depends," she replied. "Can you bring him back?"

His silence was all the answer she needed.

Natasha shook her head, unhooking the bag and laying it on the floor next to her. Bruce didn't deserve this, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault, in the end. At least he was trying. She couldn't fault him for that, even if she wanted to scream her lungs out any given moment. 

"Have you called Betty lately?" she asked as she took a seat beside him. He shook his head.

"Not really."

"You should. While you still have time. While she's still breathing."

He shrugged.

"Maybe after we're done-"

"No," she interrupted. "Don't wait. Not for a moment. Do it now, before you lose your chance. Like how I lost mine."

Bruce glanced at her as if he were seeing her clearly for the first time.

"I didn't know-"

"Neither did I." She shook her head. "But now he's gone, forever, and now I know for sure. I thought we had so much time, and I wasted it because I was scared. Scared of losing something I cared about. And now it's happened, and it hurts… more than I ever thought it could."

Natasha felt something vast and warm wrap around her, and suddenly she pulled up against Bruce's side. She didn't know why she chose that moment to suddenly let go. Maybe it was the feeling of his jumper, soft and inviting, or the way his arms cocooned her from the rest of the world. Maybe it was the fact that she had kept all bottled up inside with no reprieve. At that moment, it all came flooding out in violent sobs. 

She continued to cry until long after the sunset, and the whole while Bruce stayed with her, saying nothing, letting her mourn, occasionally wiping away tears of his own.

That evening, Bruce called Betty Brant, for the first time in years, and told her everything. 

* * *

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Do me a favour and activate Barn-Door Protocol, will you?"

The time had come, the moment that Natasha never thought she'd see. The gauntlet was ready. The stones had been attached and were glowing softly amongst each other, like a spectrum of supernatural power. Bruce was going to be the one to use them, to bring back half the universe. 

If it didn't kill him first.

As he stepped up, picking up the gauntlet and holding it carefully as if it were made of china, the rest of them prepared for the worst.

Large sheets of reinforced steel slid across the windows and doorways, sealing them - and whatever the hell was about to happen - inside the laboratory. The thunk of helmets falling into place met her ears. Across from her, Tony's nanotech armour slithered across his skin, his right arm conjuring a forcefield in front of Clint. She glanced to her side, seeing from across the way how Thor was ushering Rocket behind him. All of them were accounted for. All that was left was herself.

Nat clutched the leather strap around her knuckles, lifting Steve's shield to cover her body. She gently stroked the material with her free thumb, the image of his face forcing its way to the forefront of her mind. If only he could've been here to see it. Of all people, he deserved to see it happen. At least she had one part of him, the part that she was currently holding against her arm. The feeling of it, the broad, bright surface encompassing her, it made her feel safer than she had ever felt before. 

While she held his shield, Natasha was sure no harm would come to her.

The preparations were made. It was now or never, and Bruce knew, as he slowly adjusted the gauntlet in his grip, readying his dominant arm.

"Everybody comes home," he announced, as much for himself as for the rest of the team. This was happening, Natasha realised. She was going to see her family again.

The gauntlet opened itself up, allowing Bruce to slip his hand inside gracefully.

Immediately, the stones erupted, send surge after surge of energy rippling across the metal. The groan of the universe bending under their weight filled the air.

Along with Bruce's tortured cries.

The energy was rapidly running up his arm, neon streams of light running up his muscles and tendons, reaching up to his neck, leaving charred skin in its wake.

He's not going to make it, Natasha suddenly thought. He's going to die.

"Take it off," Thor shouted. "Take it off!"

"Tony!" Natasha cried, the man himself looked just as shocked as she did.

"Okay, Bruce, abort now!" he ordered.

"No!" Bruce refused, bringing her attention back to him. He had quietened down, composing himself against the influx of power rippling through him. "No, I'm fine. I can do this."

Natasha was about to protest further, to make Tony force him to take off the gauntlet. But she trusted Bruce. If he said he could do it, she believed him. There was no one else who could take the damage like he could. It had to be him. He had to finish this. And so Natasha reluctantly nodded, praying that Bruce could pull this off and come out the other side alive.

It seemed that Tony agreed, because he took a step back, ushering Clint further behind him. Thor anxiously gave him a thumbs up, clearly distressed, but he too had enough faith in his friend to stop him now.

With all the strength he had left, Bruce raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

There was a moment of nothingness as if all things had stopped just a fraction of a second. And then they were back.

The next moment, Bruce's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the gauntlet slipped from his arm as he tumbled to the floor.

Natasha sprung into action immediately.

"Bruce!"

The other soon followed, with Clint hurrying to the gauntlet, kicking it into the corner.

"Don't move him," Natasha ordered, just as the rest of the team gathered around him. "Check his vitals!"

"Talk to me, man," Tony called, spraying a thin layer of protective gel across Bruce's blackened, shrivelled arm.

Bruce emitted a soft groan, his eyelids fluttering open wearily.

"Did we do it?" he whispered.

"We're- We're not sure," Thor replied, his hands shaking as he went to comfort the green giant. "It's o- okay. Shh, shh, shh."

Natasha out of the corner of her eye as the steel barriers lifted, and Lang took the first few tentative steps out of the lab. Just at the edge of her hearing, beyond the anxious chatter of the men surrounding her, she heard something she hadn't heard in a long time. 

It was birdsong.

A small flock of little brown birds had found their way to the tree in the courtyard and had begun to chirp happily.

Life, springing anew. The brightest day, after a cold, long, dark night. It was the most beautiful thing that Natasha had ever heard.

"Guys…" Lang choked, gasping in something kin to shock and awe, emotions so similar to her own. "I-I think it worked."

Suddenly, another sound caught Natasha's attention, a slight buzz of a phone, vibrating against the glass counter. Clint's phone. He hesitantly walked towards it, turning it over, his eyes widening when he saw the contact on the screen.

"Who is it?" Natasha asked, having some idea who it was already, but not daring to presume, just in case…

Tears pooled at the edges of Clint's eyes, a melancholy smile appearing on his face.

"It's Laura," he confirmed. 

Natasha's heart soared, and she smiled, her vision glazing over. The moment she had wanted for so long that she had clung to for five long years was finally here. She wished now more than ever that Steve was here to share in her joy. Now she could only imagine his face, his beaming smile, his shining eyes, his firm arms wrapping around her as they hugged. His reaction after she'd finally give her answer. And the years they could have had afterwards.

There was something ironic, swapping one dream for the other, wishing so desperately for one scenario, only to lose one she didn't even know she wanted. Until it was gone.

Waited too long, she realised. Waited too long.

"Nat," she heard. She looked down to see Bruce gazing up at her, holding her arm between his fingers. "Nat, I saw him."

Natasha stared at Bruce, her heart leaping into her chest. 

"What?"

"I saw him," Bruce instead, as if it were obvious. "He talked to me. He said… he said to tell you that he… he…" 

His head turned upwards, up into the glass ceiling, into the open sky. 

Before Natasha could urge him on, his eyes widened, and he screamed.

"HOLY SH-"

The next moment, the whole world disappeared in fire and rubble.

* * *

Clint resurfaced in a pool of still, dark water. 

He stood up, grabbing his bow, quickly glancing around. He was alone. And stuck, apparently, underneath the main compound. He was surrounded by piping, lying beside a walkway above the surface of the water. Must be some kind of plumbing system. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. He had to get back up to the surface.

Clint could hardly remember what happened. One moment he was answering a call from his wife, the next, explosions were coming from everywhere, and he was falling, swallowing up by dust and concrete as the compound collapsed in on itself. 

A thousand thoughts fired through his head. Was it an accident? Did the stones do this? Were they under attack? What happened to the others? Was he the only survivor? 

What now?

A faint rattling sound caught his ear, somewhere nearby. Clint swivelled, his bow ready, only to be met with the glow of multicoloured light. The gauntlet.

He vaulted the rubble in front of him, landing on his feet in front of the red, metal glove. He checked it over, counting over the stones. Six, all there. All safe. Except, one of them was far more active than the others. The soul stone, glowing bright like the evening sun, was rattling violently in its place, causing the gauntlet itself to jut round on the floor.

"What the hell?" Clint murmured, reaching his hand forward to pick it up.

Before his fingers had even touched the metallic surface, the gauntlet gave a mighty lurch. The soul stone broke free, shattering its constraints. Clint flew back, knocking an arrow and aiming it at the stone. The amber relic didn't respond. Instead, it chose to hover silently just a couple of feet from the walkway, so that it sat at Clint's eye level. It glowed intensely, refusing to move. For some reason, Clint felt like it was staring at him, almost as if it recognised him somehow.

Then, without warning, the stone took off, flying past his shoulder into the depths of the tunnel.

"Hey, wait!"

But it was no use. The stone was long gone.

At least the rest of them were still there, Clint reassured himself. At least he had found the gauntlet. He had to keep it safe.

He reached down and clasped his hands around the device, just as the sounds of guttural chattering met his ears. Clint looked up, knocking a flare arrow and releasing it down the tunnel.

The bodies of several, large, multi-limbed creatures were illuminated in the darkness, and Clint's blood ran cold.

And he didn't think his day could get any worse.

* * *

Natasha's eyes flew open, taking in the world around her. All that met her was dust and darkness. The compound was gone. The laboratory was nothing more than concrete and shattered glass. Steve's shield, once strapped to her arm, was missing. 

She sat up, glancing around wildly, trying to find someone, anyone whom she recognised. The sound of stone shifting heavily sounded from her side, and she turned, seeing a familiar, welcome face. 

Tony, slightly bruised but still alive, stood over her, concern wracked across his face. 

"Romanoff, you okay?"

Natasha groaned in response, taking his hand and pulling herself up.

"Getting there."

"You drop something?" Tony asked, offering her Steve's shield. Her heart flipped, and a warm glow erupted in her chest at the sight of it.

"Thank you," she said as she took it from his hands and strapped it back on to her arm. Immediately, she felt herself stand taller. "What the hell was that?" 

"Well, you mess with time, time tends to mess back."

He gestured towards a hole in the wall, where Thor was already standing, staring out onto a wasteland that used to be their home. She made her way over to him, spotting what, or who he had been staring at. Thanos, back from the dead, sitting a hundred yards away from them. 

"What's he doing?" Natasha asked.

"Nothing," Thor replied, "just like he's been doing for the past five minutes."

Her brow furrowed, her mind flooded with all sorts of possibilities, the who, what, when, why he was there. Thanos was a tactical man, a schemer, and a brutal one at that. There was a reason he wasn't on them already. There was a reason he had time to sit and wait.

"It's obviously a trap," Natasha deduced, more for their sake than for hers.

"Yeah," Tony nodded. "Don't care much. You?"

"Not really," Natasha replied. Far from it, in fact. If Thanos wanted a fight, he was going to get one. Safe to say she had plenty of pent up hatred towards that man, for everything he had taken from her, and from everyone else in the universe. "Then again, the last time we did this didn't go so well."

"That's when he had the stones," Thor reminded her.

"Where are they now?"

"He doesn't have them," Tony clarified, "if that's what you're asking."

Natasha nodded dutifully.

"Let's keep it that way." She turned the Asgardian by her side. "You ready, Thor?"

"Absolutely," he replied casually, holding his hands in front of him. 

His trusty weapons, Mjolnir and Stormbreaker, flew into his hands in a show of lighting, and his where his pyjamas used to hand form his body appeared a brand new set of Asgardian armour. A suit fit for a warrior. 

"Let's kill him properly this time."

* * *

Thanos was going to destroy the universe. 

The mad man was going to go so far as to destroy everything that ever existed. All so that his ludicrous utopia could happen. It made Natasha sick to her stomach, hearing him talk so dismissively about genocide on that scale. To have to listen to the man she hated more than anyone else in existence - plucked straight from her nightmares - talking about himself as if he were a god. As if he had any right to decide who lived and who died.

He really was the monster Nebula said he was. The worst of the worst. They had to stop him, or at least try.

Natasha knew, deep down, the three of them - she, Thor and Tony - stood little chance against him. He could crush each of them to a pulp if he really wanted to. But that was never the point. If they couldn't beat him, if they couldn't stop him for good, they could delay him. As long as they were alive, he wasn't looking for the stones, and the universe was safe.

For now.

They could only go for so long. Thanos was handling them like they were nothing. Tony was already down, sprawled somewhere in the rubble of the main building. Natasha had already tried calling him, but it had no effect. He was unconscious, and it didn't look like he'd be getting up for a while.

Now it was Thor and her facing off against the towering, armoured titan. 

Natasha drew her pistols, aiming carefully and firing in the open sections of Thanos' helmet. The bullets hit true, landing in the middle of his eyes, bouncing off as if they had hit kevlar. Thanos flinched, raising his arm in front of his face to shield himself, leaving his midsection wide open to a blow from Stormbreaker.

Natasha was about to fire again when the sound of her receiver crackled in her ear.

"Na… Nata… Nat! Come in!"

She recognised his voice immediately.

"Clint?" she shouted, ducking behind cover as Thor and Thanos brawled. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. I've got the gauntlet. Nebula's with me. The real one."

For a moment, she thought she had misheard him.

"The real one?" Natasha repeated.

"Guess we've both been duped," she could practically hear his shrug. Natasha shook her head.

"Look, Clint, you need to get that gauntlet as far away from here are you can."

"I'll try, but there's a problem. A big one."

"Yeah?" Natasha groaned, glance over the debris at the ensuring fight. "Try mine."

"The soul stone," Clint hurriedly explained. "It's gone."

Natasha's heart stopped.

"What do you mean gone?" she exclaimed.

"It's just gone," Clint insisted. "It took off before I could catch it."

"Wha-?" Natasha paused for a moment, composing herself. Too many questions, too little time. "Are the others still there, at least?"

"Yep, all there."

She sighed in relief.

"Okay. Look, it doesn't matter for now. You need to run. Thanos is here. He's coming for the stones."

"Thanos? I thought he was dead."

"This is a different one."

She heard him sigh down the line.

"Of course it is." There was a short pause before she heard Clint yell, "Wait, Nat, don't tell me you're fighting him?"

"Not by myself," Nat clarified weakly.

"You need to get out of there!" he shouted. "You can't match him hand-to-hand!"

Natasha raised a single eyebrow.

"Thanks, Clint," she quipped. She vaulted over the side of the rock she was leaning against, rejoining the battle. "Thor! We've got a problem!"

Thor turned his head in her direction only a moment. A moment too long. 

Thanos' fist connected with the side of Thor's face, knocking him to the ground. His weapons were jostled out of his hands, as he landed on a charred tree stump. The mad titan was on top of him in the blink of an eye. Thor reached out his hand, calling Stormbreaker to him. The weapon flew through the air, only to be caught by Thanos, who began pushing the blade of the axe towards Thor's chest. Thor frantically grabbed it at the hilt, pushing back with almost the same force. Almost, because even with his full strength behind him, Thor was losing the fight. The blade was inching closer and closer to his chest. Any moment now, it would penetrate the armour, then the skin, then the bone.

Natasha knew she had to act.

She spotted Mjolnir, flung to the side. For a moment, Natasha considered, weighing her options. 

She ran straight past it. She knew the answer to that question, she'd known it for a long time. 

Natasha readied Steve's shield, sprinting up behind Thanos. She found the gap between his boot and his leg-plates, where the knee joint was open. She produced a small knife from her pocket, tearing at the material, slashing it away. It was swiftly followed by a swing of her shield, the lip hitting him right in the sweet spot of the tendons.

Thanos buckled, his grip of Stormbreaker slipping, allowing Thor the leeway to escape his hold. 

Thor twisted the battle axe out of Thanos' hands, kicking him in the face as the mad titan fell to the ground. The alien growled, turning towards Natasha with a murderous glint in his eye.

"Insect."

He stood, advancing towards her menacingly, brushing off Thor's continued blows. 

The Asgardian roared, jumping up onto Thanos' back, wrapping his arms around his neck in a chokehold. Thanos snarled, grabbing Thor's arm and flipping him over his head, onto the ground. The mad titan, with all of his weight, brought his boot down on the Asgardian's face, burying him into the dirt. Thor lay still, fighting no more.

Thanos's lips curled in a horrifying, vindictive smile, his eyes returning to Natasha, standing her ground, gripping the shield as if her life depended on it. It most likely did.

"You're not getting those stones," she said defiantly. "Not while we're still alive."

"Noble sentiments," Thanos remarked, picking up his sword that he had dropped earlier in the fight. "Unfounded, stupid but noble."

With all the courage she had left, Natasha smirked, readying herself.

"I knew a man who lived by them."

Thanos nonchalantly wiped the dirt off of his blade, like a butcher sharpening a knife.

"And now," he grinned, "you'll die by them."

With that, he pounced. Natasha raised the shield just in time as Thanos brought his sword crashing down. The hit made her teeth vibrate, her arms barely holding up against the attack. She barely had time to recover, as yet another blow landed down on the shield. And another, and another; so many in quick succession that she could hardly believe it. 

Her knees burned as she tried to withstand the constant barrage of hits. One after the other, never letting up, not even for a moment. Until, eventually, her knee buckled and the shield slipped. 

Natasha felt the kick before she even saw the blur of Thanos' foot.

The pain spread through her chest, and her body went flying. She felt the air rush by her, her limbs flying out in all directions. It was only as she was approaching the ground that she rolled, placing the shield between her and the pile of broken wood beneath her. They collided, and Natasha rolled. Her back hit the jagged remnants of a great oak, and a spike of pain leapt through her body. Eventually, she came to a halt, collapsing bodily against a block on concrete. 

A searing agony in her side told her a rib was broken, maybe even her arm after Thanos' onslaught. She couldn't take another one of those, not now. Except, there was no one else to do so. She was alone. Alone, and judging by the rate her heart was beating out of her chest, very, very scared.

Yet, still, she tried to stand, gathering up Steve's shield, baring barely a scratch and hoisting it up.

Only for Thanos to rip it out of her hands.

She tried reaching for it, only for him to slap her back into the concrete. Stars erupted in front of her eyes, her limbs feeling like distant memories. She could barely feel a warm glow of orange fire by her side, one of many that had been created in the aftermath of Thanos' attack.

That was what the compound - her home - had been reduced to. Fire and rubble. All because of the man currently standing over her, the one that was about to kill her. 

The one that took everything from her.

She tried raising her fist, sitting up, breathing. Anything. She had nothing left. The fight had left her.

Natasha always knew she'd die fighting. Some part of her wanted it that way, to go down protecting her family, and friends. Even now, knowing that it would be Thanos that took her life, she felt fulfilled, knowing that had at least bought them some time. At least she had gone down doing all she could to stop him.

She gazed up, past Thanos, into the sky, watching the sun basking amid the clouds. She knew he was there. She knew he was watching her, from wherever he was. She felt it in her heart. She could only hope that he was proud of her. 

Her final thoughts were of Steve, as Thanos raised his sword. How she loved him, how she knew he loved her. Natasha closed her eyes, ready for the inevitable.

It never came.

From out of nowhere, the sound of Uru metal hurling through the air met her ears.

Natasha opened her eyes just in time to see Mjolnir collide into Thanos' side. The titan stumbled, his gaze following the hammer as it returned to its wielder.

A man materialising in a glow of amber light.

The stranger caught it, and the hammer sparked in a furious display of power. His eyes glowed a subtle blue as he once again took a fighting stance. Eyes that sparkled with the will of a soldier, now endowed with the power of the gods. Pure, azure eyes that Natasha had fallen in love with; that she thought she'd never see again.

If Thanos wanted a fight, he had one. If he came to face the full might of the Avengers, he was going to get it.

Because Steve Rogers - armed with Mjolnir in one hand, and his ever-faithful shield in the other - was going to give it to him.


	4. PART IV

Natasha was sure she was dead. She must be. That was the only explanation. How else could Steve Rogers be standing there, right in front of her eyes, ready for battle? Alive... This must be some delirious hallucination of her’s, deluding her from the grim reality of the situation. She was going to feel the brunt of Thanos’ blade any second now, maybe it had already skewered her, and she was yet to realise it. This must be some beautiful afterlife, a place where she could rest after a long, arduous life.

It all made sense... except for the fact that Thanos was here too. Natasha didn’t know a lot about the afterlife - she was hardly the religious type - but she did know that, if one did exist, there was no way that Thanos would end up in the same place as Steve Rogers. Not by a long shot. People like Thanos were bound for somewhere far deeper, far worse than what people like Steve deserved.

Still, considering what she was seeing, it looked like the super soldier was about to send him there.

The first hit collided with Thanos’ jaw like a freight train, as Steve came charging at him. The brunt of Mjolnir, swinging faster than the eye could see, was thrown up into the purple alien's face before he had time to react. The impact sent the mad titan flying off his feet in a tall arch. The Goliath was buried into the ground as he landed, his armour doing little but weigh him down.

Thanos quickly recovered, staggering to his feet. He grabbed his sword just in time to block Steve’s shield from hurtling into his face. The shield twirled high into the air. With supernatural accuracy, Steve threw Mjolnir above Thanos’ head, hitting the shield on its broad face. The hammer ricocheted, crashing into Thanos’ back, sending the shield right back into Steve’s waiting hands as he followed up with a knee aimed at the titan’s face.

Thanos growled and threw a punch, missing Steve’s head by inches. He tried again, only to wilt as Mjolnir collided with his knee. Thanos had but half a second before Steve continued his attack, hitting him once, twice, three times in the face in rapid succession. The soldier swiftly followed by hurling his shield into Thanos’ jaw, only for Steve to hit it straight back on the rebound, like a batsman hitting a perfect home run.

The giant withdrew, still recovering from the assault, opening his eyes just in time to see Steve call a bolt of lightning to the weapon in his hand. The hammer glowed, and Steve swung. A blast of electricity barrelled towards Thanos and sent him sprawling, pushing him through the dirt like a plough. Steve raised the hammer once more. A second bolt descended, hitting Thanos where he lay. The titan let out a tortured cry as thousands of volts flooded his bones, sparking every synapse.

Barely a second later, Steve brought the hammer down hard on Thanos’ head, shattering the mad titan’s helmet in two. The alien warlord scrambled to his feet, swinging his fist desperate to get in a hit. A wide punch left Thanos open, as Steve swung the hammer as hard as he could straight in the titan’s abdomen. Thanos went flying, falling past the lip of the crater left by his attack, rolling out of view.

Out of the fight, if only for a few seconds. Perhaps they had a chance, after all.

Steve wasted no time rushing to Natasha’s side, making use of the small window of time he had made for himself.

“You okay?” he asked, checking her over. His hands went to her cheeks, her arms, her sides, his eyes darting over her. Natasha’s were locked solely on his face, unable to look away.

“You’re alive,” she breathed, too tired to deny the tears that were leaking from her eyes. The man in front of her smiled, his eyes shining.

“Well, I couldn’t leave my best girl,” he replied. “Not when she needs my help.”

Summoning a strength she didn’t know she had, Natasha leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. Steve’s hands went to her back, supporting her as he brought her into a careful, soft embrace.

“How are you here?” Natasha whispered.

She felt a rumbled against her chest as he chuckled.

“Does it matter?”

Natasha smirked, her fingers tightening around the material of his uniform.

“No, not really.”

It was a perfect moment, even amidst the debris, choking on dust and blood. Steve was here, holding her, and a for a moment, she could almost forget how unbelievably outmatched they were. A single word, spoken from afar, smug and drawling, brought it all crashing down.

“Adorable.”

The pair parted, turning to find Thanos, standing on the far bank of a vast plain of rock. He stood, his sword buried upright by his side. Behind him, cresting the lip of the opposite bank, rows and rows of Chitauri warriors, embarking from towering ships, protruding from the ground like obelisks, each one protruding hundreds of soldiers, armed to the teeth. Running alongside them were swarms of feral outriders, multi-limbed monsters with teeth like knives and the strength of men in each of their six limbs. They looked up, spotting a long line of spacecraft disembarking from Thanos’ ship, looming over them.

The full might of Thanos’ army was here, ready to wipe them off of the face of the Earth.

“The soldier and the spy,” the mad titan continued. “I know all about you. Everything. You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to finally put this stubborn, annoying little planet under my boot. I try not to take too much satisfaction in my work, but here? I’m gonna enjoy this, very, very much.”

Distant roars caught their ears, drawing them to a mother set of grounded spacecraft. The broadside opened up to reveal hulking, hairy, gorillaesque abominations, walking on all fours. Their metal collars were struck off, and the creatures screamed a primal cry of blood lust. Just one looked strong enough to match the Hulk, and Thanos had dozens.

The horror continued, as dozens of Leviathans swooped in from above, their armoured skin and long, sharp teeth glinting in the gloom. Each of them was flanked by a dozen smaller ships, with coming, birthed from the belly of Thanos’ ship like wasps from a nest.

And to top it all off, a blue beam of light hit the earth, just behind Thanos himself. Four figures stepped out, revealing themselves to be the Children of Thanos, ready to do battle.

What little hope Natasha had was squashed mercilessly, strangled into nothingness at sight of such overwhelming opposition. There was no way they could compete against that. Even if they had the rest of the team by their side, if it were somehow more than just the two of them, the odds were stacked so highly against them, it was almost laughable.

They weren't going to win this one. It was that simple.

And yet, in the face of it all, Natasha heard Steve’s encumbered sigh, as he began to rise.

“No, please,” she begged, holding on as hard she could, her grasp on his shoulders tightening into a solid grip. “Not against that.”

Of all the tortures in the world Natasha had witnessed, all the worst pains she had suffered, nothing could compare to what she knew she was about to see. Even with the entire universe faced against him, Steve would never back down. Even now, Natasha could see the rebellious spirit gleaming in his eye, burning as brightly as it ever did. He was going to fight, with just a shield and a hammer as his weapons, all on his own.

And, without a shadow of a doubt, Natasha knew he was going to lose.

The idea of it made Natasha physically sick. A cold, ugly sensation, like something had crawled into her chest and had begun to rip itself out, reared its head. At least when Steve was on Vormir, she wasn’t there to see his demise. Now, she had been given a front-row seat to her worst nightmare, with no choice but to watch on like some sick play.

All of a sudden, she wasn’t the ruthless Black Widow, nor was she Natasha Romanoff, a mighty Avenger. Now, as she held Steve in her arms, all composure forgotten, she was just Natasha, a woman who didn’t want to have to watch the man she loved die. Not when she had just got him back.

As she felt Steve pull her into his chest, feeling his breath on her neck and his lip press an earnest kiss on her cheek, she knew exactly what he was about to say.

“I have to try.”

If there was any doubt that Steve had returned from the grave, it was gone now. This was him, the one and only. Somehow that made what was to come hurt so much more.

“I’m glad…” she managed to wrench from her throat, “that I got to see you one last time.”

Steve’s fingers tightened around her in a grip that felt identical to her’s, as if he was just as reluctant to let go as she was. As if he was feeling the exact same emotions as her. Loss, regret, fear… and something unspoken. Something more profound and more potent than anything else.

“Me too.”

She caught a glimpse of a shimmer pooling at the edges of Steve’s eyes, as he turned, squaring up against the army across from him. Natasha held on for as long as she could until she could feel him no longer, her fingers slipping away from his grasp. Steve stood, tightening the strap of his shield, and slowly began walking, straight towards Thanos and his forces, without a hint of fear or hesitation. Straight towards his death.

Natasha forced herself to watch, forcing herself to see him for as long as she was allowed, to savour these last few moments, before the inevitable. The army would begin their charge any second now. It was only a matter of time. 

_“Cap…”_

It was faint; it was muffled; it barely resembled a message, but it stopped every other thought in Natasha's head in its tracks. That voice. Natasha had heard that voice before. Not in a long time, but she would recognise it anywhere.

_“Captain, do you read me?”_

She saw Steve’s stride come to a halt, his hand slowly reaching up to the comm device in his ear. He had heard it too. That brilliant, impossible message.

_“Cap, it’s Sam, can you hear me?”_

For a moment, Natasha forgot to breathe. She surely must be dead now, she thought. This miracle could not possibly be happening. It was beyond any dream she had very had of this day. But even so, as a faint spark began to appear just to her side, opening up into a flaring hole, she knew that fate had finally rewarded them.

_“On your left.”_

Beyond the portal was bright sunlight, piercing and beautiful, masking the three figures marching into the war-torn landscape. Natasha realised who they were immediately, and her tears began an encore as the king of Wakanda, flanked by his lieutenant and sister, made themselves known. She knew that Steve could see them too, by how he had turned back, staring wide-eyed and open-jawed, his hand still touching his earpiece in shock.

T’Challa smiled at them both, as the Falcon - Sam, alive and well - soared out of the very same portal, arching into the air.

The air around her began to twinkle, as several more spots spark into life, like stars in the night sky. One portal became five. Five became ten. Ten became dozens. And like the arrival of a great storm, they were no longer alone.

Thousands of people - so many Natasha recognised, and many, many more that she didn’t - began marching into the fray.

One portal revealed a man, floating upon a large, red cape, his hands illuminated with glowing energy. To his sides are a group of strange-looking people. A muscle-bound, shirtless man, covered in bright red tattoos, wielding two knives the size of her forearm. A lady with two antennae sticking out of her head and eyes the size of saucers, clad in a green suit. Another, flying onto the scene in rocket boots; his helmet melted away to reveal a human man, decked in all red and flexing two twin blasters.

Then, another human, smaller, lither, swinging on a thread of webbing. They landed, and the mask came down. It was the kid from Germany, the one that Tony had lost; Peter Parker. He was back.

They were all back.

Bucky, Wanda, Groot, T’Challa, Sam, Shuri.

And so many more - so many. Lines of people stretching out as far as the eye could see. Wizards, aliens, Wakandans, Asgardians, spacecraft, fighter ships - even a pegasus. And, as if it weren’t already enough, the roof of the compound came crashing open, and Giant-Man stepped forth, bearing the rest of the team safely in his palm.

An army all of their own.

Of course, it was only now that Tony and Thor decided to wake up, similarly captivated by the scene in front of them. Natasha particularly enjoyed the look on Tony’s face as his wife landed in her own Iron-Man suit, her faceplate opening up to reveal a determined scowl.

And then their eyes fell on Steve for the first time, and their awe became shock.

“You guys can see him too, right?” Tony asked as they gathered on the front line, Thor having helped Natasha up to her feet. Steve just laughed.

“You missed me?” he grinned, casually jostling Mjolnir in his grip, to which Thor beamed.

“I knew it,” he nodded.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony scoffed. “Boy scout is worthy, meanwhile-“

“Nice to see you back in business,” Natasha smiled, “After your little power nap back there.”

“Talk about time-out,” Tony raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the super soldier in front of him. “This guy’s been out for a whole day.”

“Mainly 'cause I was dead,” Steve reminded him.

“Speaking of which,” Tony continued, “welcome back, nice to see you - oh, and by the way - how?”

Steve shrugged.

“I walked it off.”

Natasha glanced around, one last time, at the expanse of heroes on their side, then back towards Thanos, standing alone in the distance. He appeared far less confident than he did before.

“Nat.”

Steve’s voice called her back to him, as he handed her his shield, a smirk on his face.

“It suits you.”

A blooming warmth erupted through her chest. She took it gladly, strapping it onto her arm proudly, and suddenly she felt like she could run a marathon. Or something to that effect.

At last, with everyone she could possibly want by their side ready and raring to go, Steve stood tall and bellowed.

“AVENGERS!”

He raised Mjolnir skyward, summoning a bolt of lightning. It struck with a thunderous boom, the metal ringing like a bell. The battlefield fell silent, all ears and eyes trained on them. All six of them.

Steve lowered the hammer, pointing it towards the enemy.

“ASSEMBLE!”

* * *

Natasha had attended too many funerals in her life. So many, in fact, that she was almost becoming numb to it. Then again, that more came down to the fact that most of the ceremonies she had witnessed were formalities, either being dedicated to people she didn't much like, or part of a grander mission, merely a means to an end.

Sometimes, however, she had to attend funerals of people she _did_ care about - the worst one's in her opinion, simply for the fact of their existence. Peggy Carter's was one. Phil Coulson's was another. And Tony’s ceremony was the next in a line that already far too long.

This was definitely one of the funerals that hurt the most.

In the end, she attended two separate ceremonies dedicated to the late Tony Stark. The first was organised and performed in Washington, blessed by the president himself. It was a stilted affair, more of a recognition than a remembrance. Natasha struggled to get through it, even with Steve by her side, hanging onto her arm, absorbing the attention like a sponge in his old Army uniform.

The second funeral was for close friends and family only, and it was the one Natasha definitely preferred. It was a profoundly sombre day, taking place at Tony’s lake house, hosted by none other than Pepper. God, Pepper, she thought solemnly. Losing Tony was undoubtedly hard on all of them, but Pepper was his wife, the mother of his child, the person who understood him better than anyone. Natasha could only imagine what she was going through.

Or perhaps she could relate, Natasha realised, as her hand subconsciously tightened around Steve’s arm, recalling that awful day when she thought she’d never see him again. She felt a hand coming to rest against her’s, and she leaned against his shoulder.

The couple stood on the landing jetty, behind Tony’s closest family, as Pepper sent the last piece of her husband floating on the surface of the dark waters. Natasha thanked every deity she knew that she was not here alone - that Steve wasn’t here alone, forced to bear the weight of his grief all by himself. A thought burrowed into her mind of Steve standing on this very jetty with no one by his side, the same forlorn expression on his face, without her or anyone else to console him

The image left her mind as quickly as it appeared, forced from her head as Natasha chose to focus on the scene in front of her. On the here and now. They had won. The rest of her friends and family were alive. Most of them, anyway. She had that to be thankful for, at least, because now… now there was someone to carry on, instead of her. Now, she was going to take Steve’s offer.

She and Steve were going to Ohio, and there was nothing left to stop them. A new life, finally within their grasp.

* * *

A few days later, Natasha found herself standing in the living room of Steve's Brooklyn apartment, taking in the space. It seemed far too spacious for one person - then again, most of it was already packed into several small boxes littered around the room. Natasha tried to imagine Steve by himself, day by day, and for some reason, she couldn't. It didn't feel like Steve at all. It felt... cold, impersonal if she were willing to go that far. Even after mentally placing each piece of furniture back into the room, it still hardly counted as a home. More of a neatly, decorated cell.

No wonder he had been so desperate to move away. The house they had chosen was far nicer, more homely, in all the right ways. Even scrolling through images online, Natasha could tell it as exactly what Steve needed. Maybe it was what she needed as well, somewhere cosy and safe. Natasha couldn't remember the last time she had any of that.

“This ain’t a lot of stuff,” Natasha remarked, tiptoeing between the dozen boxed strewn across the floor. 

“I didn’t need much,” Steve explained, closing the flaps on a cardboard box and heaving it onto the window sill.

“Good,” Natasha smiled. “There’ll be plenty of space for my things.”

“Of course,” he laughed.

Natasha smirked. It wouldn’t be much longer until every box was downstairs, packed into a moving van they had hired for the day. Then they would be off to Ohio, to their brand new home, far away from the life they used to lead. To their new, exciting life together, whatever that may be.

The life that was almost lost to them both.

“Natasha.”

She looked up, realising she had been staring into the middle distance. She nodded, smiling and failing. Steve sighed as if reading her.

“I didn’t know what would happen,” he said, bowing his head. “I never wanted to hurt you, but I couldn’t afford to lose you.”

“You think I could afford to lose you?” Natasha replied. “All I could think about when you were gone was how… how it should have been…”

“Natasha.”

Natasha shook her head.

“You didn’t deserve to die.”

“Neither did Clint,” Steve affirmed. “And neither did you.”

She frowned.

“What with all the red in my ledger, I’d disagree.”

Steve took thee strides and was in front of her in a moment.

“Well, I think you’re much more than that,” he said softly, taking her hand in his. “And even if it takes the rest of my life, I’m gonna prove it to you.”

“You’ve got your work cut out for you, Rogers.”

“Speaking of which,” he nodded to the box sitting on the window sill, “you mind?”

Natasha squinted at him.

“Really?”

“I don’t know,” he pondered, leading her over, gazing down at the cardboard box. “This one’s feeling a little heavy.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, placing her fingers underneath the vertices, and lifted with all of her strength. The box provided little resistance. In fact, much to her confusion, it felt practically empty.

“I've lifted milk cartons heavier than this.”

Steve smiled.

“Keep that in mind.”

He unfolded each of the cardboard lids and reached his hand inside. His fingers clasped onto something, and he lifted his hand back out. To Natasha’s shock, Mjolnir came with it.

“Well,” he smiled, “would you look at that…”

Natasha blinked, barely daring to breathe.

“That doesn’t count,” she quickly tried to protest, to which Steve raised an eyebrow.

He gently took the box from her hands, dropping it to the floor, placing the hilt of the Asgardian hammer in her palm and folding her digits around with his other hand. He stared her in the eye, a mischevious glint twinkling at her.

“You sure about that?”

Without warning, he let go.

Natasha braced herself to feel an overwhelming weight, heavier than anything she had ever felt before. Any second, Mjolnir would come hurtling down, and she would be dragged with it as it feel to the floor. Any second now. Any minute now. It was bound to happen.

Except it didn’t happen. Mjolnir was still tightly grasped in her hand, barely more cumbersome than a carton of milk. The air left her lungs; her eyes widened comically.

“You know,” she said, scrounging up what little spunk she had left, much to Steve’s amusement, “if you were wrong, that could have gone a lot worse.”

“If I were wrong, you wouldn’t have been able to pick up that box.”

“As far as you know,” Natasha scoffed. Steve nodded.

“Tony and I had some long debates over this. Back when...”

The smile on his face dimmed slightly, as his gaze fell to the floor once again.

Natasha was by his side in a moment, still holding the power of the gods as if it were nothing. The feeling of it quenched something deep within her, life a weight she didn't realise she was carrying, or a pain she couldn't remember being without. The rivers of red in her past ran dry, replaced with a deep sense of tranquillity. The truth hit her like a summer's breeze - slowly, surely and warm. She could finally move on, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that she had earned it. And she was going to do it with the man she loved, and who loved her back.

“By the way,” she asked as a lingering, loose thread reappeared in her mind, “why couldn’t you lift it before?”

Steve paused, thinking back to the evening before the Ultron affair, eight whole years ago by his account. He smirked.

“I think we both know why.”

Natasha nodded.

“Yeah,” she replied, recalling the slight squeak as the hammer by budged by barely an inch. An inch that shouldn’t have been possible unless… Well, Thor knew what it meant. Natasha hadn’t doubted it for a second. “Yeah, we do.”

* * *

“And remember,” Bruce explained, gesturing to the briefcase holding the six infinity stones, “you have to return the stones at the exact moment you got ’em, or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternate realities.”

Steve, kitted out in his full uniform, the last temporal GPS device on his wrist, nodded.

“Don’t worry, Bruce,” he assured him, closing the briefcase and clasping it shut. “Clip all the branches.”

“And you can’t be seen,” Natasha reminded him, handing him his helmet, and strapping it to his head affectionately. “That means no theatrics. No more jumping out of buildings, vaulting cars, running in general. Nothing I wouldn’t do.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try, Steve,” Bucky added from across the way, “do.”

“Awesome,” Steve grinned, “now I’ve got two of ’em.”

“Only ’cause you never take a hint,” Bucky ribbed.

Steve waved him off, striding towards the machine in the centre of the area they had set up. The original Quantum Gate was destroyed in the attack on the compound, so, of course, a new one had to be built. This one was much smaller than the original, only suitable for one person. Namely, Steve. The man charged with returning the stones to their proper places in the timeline.

“You know, if you want,” Sam quickly added, walking with him up to the platform, “I could come with you.”

“You’re a good man, Sam,” Steve replied, patting him on the shoulder. “This one’s on me, though.”

“Your funeral,” Sam shrugged, only to cringe as he spotted the look Natasha sent his way. “Sorry.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh, turning towards his oldest friend.

“I am coming back, Buck,” he said.

“I know,” Bucky nodded, grinning, “’cause if you don’t, I’m gonna hunt you down and drag you back myself.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

The pair of brothers brought each other into a firm, long hug, lingering for only a moment, but it was enough. He was coming back. No need to say goodbye, not today. Simply a farewell.

The two disengaged fondly, and Steve stepped up to the platform, where Mjolnir was patiently waiting for him.

“How long is it gonna take?” he heard Sam ask as he leaned down to pick up the ever-faithful hammer.

“For him, as long as he needs,” Bruce replied. “For us, five seconds.”

He heard the generators warm up, the gear and motors whirring into life.

“Wait,” Natasha intervened, hurrying up to the platform, much to the group’s confusion. Steve was about to ask what was going on before he felt two hands reach up to his face and pull him down into a soft, chaste kiss. Natasha released him, stepping back as he stood stock still, frozen in something akin to shock and glee. “For the road. And in case you get any ideas.”

Steve exhaled, his smile turning into a Cheshire grin.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas.”

Natasha flashed Steve a look that stoked something very dangerous within him.

“Then hurry back.”

Before Steve’s will could completely collapse, Natasha swivelled, casually marching down the steps of the platform, out of reach. Leaving Steve alone on the platform, still reeling from their embrace.

“You ready, Cap?” Bruce called, sobering him instantly. Steve shook his head, leaning down to pick up Mjolnir. “Alright, we’ll meet you back here, okay?

“You bet,” he replied as a nanotech helmet formed from his Quantum suit, quickly wrapping itself over his head.

Bruce gave him a thumbs-up, and the countdown began.

“Going quantum in 3, 2, 1.”

Steve gave Natasha one last look and disappeared.

“And returning,” Bruce announced, “in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

Steve did not reappear.

Natasha’s heart stopped, her mind going up in flames. She glanced at Bruce, who was skittishly scanning each of the monitors for the answer. Her eyes fell anxiously to Sam and Bucky, similarly nervous.

It was happening again. Natasha felt like she was back on the platform in the main hangar, seeing Clint on his knees, unable to make out the words, and yet with none needed to be said. Steve was gone, he wasn’t coming back, he was-

He’s just reappeared.

Of course, he has.

“Sorry,” she hears Bruce’s voice, bathed in chagrin. “Make that ten seconds.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, breathing in a sigh of relief as the helmet of the Quantum suit peeled back, revealing Steve’s smiling, healthy face. He was fine, just like he said he would be. Just like he promised.

Natasha palmed her face, a laboured sigh on her lips. She was getting too damn old for this. This must have been how Alexei felt.

“And here I was thinking I was gonna have to live in a world without Captain America,” Sam laughed, his hands on his knees, relief similar to her’s masked underneath.

“I wouldn’t worry about that too much,” Steve smiled.

Natasha spotted a minute glance in her direction, and she nodded, recognising the signal.

“You won’t ever have to,” Steve announced, as Natasha rounded the corner, around, wide, canvas bag in tow, “Captain.”

Sam simply looked at them both, hesitantly unzipping the bag, already harbouring an inkling at to what was inside, but refusing to believe it. A rim of bright red, shining from underneath, was slowly revealed before his very eyes, only confirming his suspicions.

“You sure about this?” he said anxiously, to which Steve nodded.

“Of course.”

The canvas fell away, leaving the gleaming vibranium disc in Sam’s hands. It was lighter than he expected, and yet the weight of it left him speechless. Eventually, after several moments of starstruck awe, Sam’s eyes found Bucky, who - like Steve - was smiling at him, nodding his approval.

“I’ll do my best,” Sam promised faintly.

Steve clapped him gently on the shoulder, smiling broader than he had in years.

“I know.”

It was all that Sam could to smile back, as his arm found the leather straps and tightened. It fit like an old friend as if he had been wearing it for years.

“By the way,” Steve added, as Natasha and buck lead the way to their SUV a few minutes later, “throw from the hip, not the shoulder. Works every time.”

Sam’s only response was a mirthful bark.

* * *

“How long have you been gone?” Natasha asked from the passenger seat, as the car took a left, setting off down the motorway.

Steve exhaled, shaking his head tiredly.

“A week,” he guessed. “Maybe two.”

He turned to her, putting a warm hand on her thigh, smiling.

“I missed you.”

Natasha pulled his hand up to her mouth, placing a soft kiss on his knuckles, mirroring the sentiment.

“Go anywhere fun?” she asked, flexing her brows up and down cheekily.

“Not really,” he chuckled. “Though, Vormir was interesting.”

“How so?”

“I think the Red Skull was just as confused as I was.”

Natasha sputtered a chortle, summoning a soft laugh in return. If it weren’t for the fact that he was driving, he would have happily stared at Natasha until the sun went down. It was a welcome change, seeing her relaxed, smiling, enjoying herself. Happy. Happier than she had ever been, in part, because of him. The idea made his heart swell.

“Anywhere else?” she asked after the two had calmed down and the sign for Ohio flew past the window.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, “just one.”

* * *

Peggy Carter prided herself on being an astute, observant person. It came with the job, after all. Her years serving the British and American governments had moulded her someone who could find a needle in a haystack - and the man who put it there - with merely a glance.

It was inevitable then, when she entered her office after a long, tiresome day, that the irregularity lying on her desk did not escape her attention for very long.

At first glance, it looked entirely unremarkable, some sort of round tin, or pocket watch, barely big enough to fill the palm of her hand. Then she took a closer look, and her heart began to race.

It was a compass.

Her fingers found the latch, opening the lid, revealing none other than an aged photograph of her face. The same that she had seen in Steve’s compass. The one that was lost a long time ago, that had gone down with Captain America in the Artic.

It was impossible. Peggy struggled to believe it.

Or she would have, if not for the surprise visit of Natasha Romanoff just days before. And the fact that she had just been dismissed from a meeting regarding the Tesseract’s miraculous reappearance. She had suspected, hoped, that maybe she would get to Natasha again.

All in good time, she supposed. All in good time.

Putting the compass to one side, her eyes spotted something else. Something she had missed, too distracted by everything else around her. Beneath where the item once sat lay a piece of paper; the torn edge told her it had been hurriedly ripped from her notebook. On its face, a note scrawled in handwriting that was so very reminiscent of the kind that she found decorating Steve’s sketchbook. The very same, in fact. It contained two, short words, utterly banal in any other context, but they meant the world to her.

_Thank you_

Nothing else was written. Nothing else was needed.

Peggy didn’t know what to think, or how to feel. But did know one thing, one little thing that popped into her head, and rendered her lips into a small, satisfied smile.

The right partner, indeed.

* * *

If there was a better feeling in the world than holding Natasha Romanoff in his arms as he swayed with her to tune of an old jazz piece, then Steve didn’t know it. And Steve didn’t want it.

After everything they had been through, all he had fought for, Steve couldn’t have imagined he would be here, in a place that he called home - sharing it with a beautiful dame, no less. Not only that, but he was now free, free to spend the rest of his life in whatever way he wanted, to finally shed the guilt that had hung over his shoulders for so many years. To move on, with the person he loved by his side, hopefully for years to come.

When Steve told Sam and Bucky about his plans, about how he wanted to hang up the costume for good, he expected something akin to disappointment, certainly judgement. What he got instead was something he wasn’t expecting. Overwhelming approval. Turns out they had wanted this for him as he long he had, Bucky especially. They told him, in no uncertain terms, that it was precisely what he and Natasha deserved.

And with that, he could finally rest.

Five years of regret, pain, longing and grief were finally over.

Steve Rogers was now just a man, in love with a woman. He couldn’t be happier.

The night was closing in, the fireplace was crackling softly, the table was set, ready for their first dinner together. It was Natasha favourite, an old Russian pastry that reminded her of the days before the Black Widow program. It was nothing spectacular, just a simple dish that Steve had managed to concoct with what little groceries they had. According to Natasha, it was perfect.

The song ended, and the woman resting on his chest looked up, her shining eyes gazing into his. He was sure her thoughts mirrored his, which meant that, above anything else, the urge to kiss was as strong for her as it was for him.

So they did.

The last thought that faded from his mind, as Natasha’s lips met his in a soft union, was hope. Hope in the future, in the world that slowly rebuilding, and the one that he held in his arms.

They had waited long enough. Now it was time to move on, hopefully to something better. At least, it was something new. Because Steve realised, the world had changed forever, and now there was no going back. All they could do now was their best, and sometimes the best that they could do was to start over.


End file.
